Slow Fade
by Capt. Incredible
Summary: The Laughing Death... it's what they called her. The last of the Bhaalspawn to challenge Sarevok. Imoen. Gorion's ward- From an alternate universe within Tale of the Bhaalspawn, a look at Imoen and a path into the Realms that would lead her into darkness.
1. Present Day

**Slow Fade**

_Author's Foreword: This particular story stems from a few chapters set in Tale of the Bhaalspawn, in which certain characters are introduced to an alternate universe where Greywulf, the central character, was never born as a Bhaalspawn, setting into motion a chain of events leading to a warped version of reality. One of the reviewers, Kazza, I believe, suggested a story exploring this alternate universe, specifically the character of Imoen and her descent into darkness... and here we are. This might take longer to update than Tale of The Bhaalspawn, but I'll try and get to it as often as I can. Oh, and the name. Slow Fade is a song by Casting Crowns, and the lyrics are perfect for this story. Now that everything's been said and done... I hope you enjoy!_

_-Captain Incredible_

**Present Day.**

Thunder. Echoes of thunder, lightning and storm clouds above thickening the air with humidity and dust until it was like drinking the air. Sheets of rain were pouring down upon the blackened and ruined fields, spilling into the cracked and parched dirt, but it was no use. No downpour would quench or restore the life, the vitality that had once been here in the fertile foothills by the Orsraun Mountains. Or in the plains of Amn, where grasslands and bountiful pastures had become burnt, scorched earth. Or near Beregost, where farmland was now cursed ground, bone littered soil that sapped the life and will of any who ventured there.

The only signs of life now were those who would seek to destroy life... masses of soldiers, archers, pikemen and cavalry, all clad in ebony armor, a set of golden eyes emblazoned on the banners and shields of the armies at the west side of the foothills. They marched east, their footsteps like the drums of death while the sound of rain battering their armor was shriller than the wail of a banshee. Any sane man would have taken one look at the war machine, the unstoppable juggernaut of destruction and turned away. Fled for his life and hoped that by some slim chance, by some divine intervention, he might escape notice and be spared the death and the fate that had befallen millions of others.

Out in front of the army, a single man strode forth, separating himself from his men. Not that he blended in with anyone to begin with; his armor was large and bladed, his height at least a foot above any other there. The glowing eyes that adorned every banner belonged to this monstrosity of a human; they glowed like dark embers in the depths of his skull shaped helmet, his great sword lifted high with both hands. He needed say nothing- the men behind him would follow him to his death. Not necessarily out of devotion, out of pride... certainly not love. More so fear. Fear of what he would do to them if they were not willing to sacrifice their lives for his.

Again, what sane man would possibly face such depths, look into the eyes of the beast and be willing to face it? An echo of insane laughter tilted across the foothills, just barely audible, somehow discernible over the pounding rain and the footfalls of the army behind Sarevok, greatest of the Children of Bhaal. The source of that laughter, the one who would dare put their life on the line against him, was neither sane, nor a man.

Across the foothills, there waited another army. Smaller, less formidable. On the surface, no match for the one that approached and dwarfed any who dared stand against it. This one had no banners, no proud insignia to flash and behold for its master. She needed no symbol to go before her, no picture to display her image. Her laughter was enough. Such a little thing... and even so, it somehow spoke more volumes, inspired more fear than anything Sarevok could have mustered.

She mirrored him, before her own army. Stepping out, making herself known to the servants that followed her, as well as the armies out to destroy her. Hair drenched with the rain above, the pink and red strands sticking to her face, her eyes flashed a dark black for a moment, a mockery of Sarevok's own eyes. She laughed at that. She was clad in elven chain mail, though it had long since been dyed from it's original emerald colors, instead replaced by a black sheen, marred with jagged streaks of pink that looked like stripes of blood in the darkness. Two blades were at her side, magical weapons with vile enchantments cast upon them... more than a thousand men had met their deaths at the ends of those merciless weapons. Elves, humans, warriors... wizards. One kindly old wizard in particular that she remembered. Imoen, she who was the Laughing Death, laughed at that too.

The golden eyed beast watched her with narrowed gaze, the last of his foes, and the only obstacle to the Throne of Bhaal. He brought his sword to his side, and spoke. "Warriors of Sarevok!! This is the end! Take your place at the side of the Lord of Murder, and serve him in hell! Fail... fail and you will wish you had never been born."

He roared, and the men behind him took up the call, their own voices adding to his yet somehow still dwarfed. Imoen watched the army before her shout, preparing themselves for the carnage that would ensue in mere seconds. She flipped a lock of hair out from her vision, cracking her neck one way, then the other. She glanced behind her, biting her lip as she looked at the faces of everyone. They all looked so serious... why? Didn't they get the joke that was life?

She sighed, then turned for a brief moment. She shrugged, fixing a grin on her face. "Follow me. Don't follow me. You'll die regardless. It's all just part of the joke, anyway."

With that brief sentence, Imoen turned and darted at full speed towards the other army, magic crackling in her hands as she chanted her spells in a sing-song tone, rhythmically rhyming to make her arcane powers known. Sarevok followed suit; the last two Bhaalspawn led their armies in a final battle to decide the fate of the Throne. Her first spell completed; hail the size of boulders began falling all around, battering trees, soldiers, it mattered little whether it was her own men or Sarevok's. The two were only a few hundred meters out now; a second spell reached fruition. Fire fell from heaven and consumed scores at a time. The smell of burning flesh engulfed the field of battle, even as a lick passed right in front of Imoen, the girl only blinking once as she ran through the remnants of it, her clothes steaming from the near escape. She grinned.

Sarevok raised the Blade of Chaos to the ready, sidestepping another burst of flame. A hundred meters. Imoen laughed hysterically as her hands unleashed the powers of a Comet, the giant meteor crushing the center of Sarevok's formation. It was of no concern to him- his troops were nothing more than fodder. He would have killed them himself for failing to see the celestial spell before it struck them. Fifty meters now.

Imoen stared into those golden eyes as he charged ever closer, mud and blood splashing up around her as she nimbly ran to her own demise. Or would it be his? She rolled her eyes and blew Sarevok a kiss before yanking both blades from their sheaths, gripping them tightly as she covered more ground between them. Twenty-five meters.

He roared in fury. Fifteen.

She laughed in sadistic mirth. Ten.

Lightning struck the field, engulfing everything as light blazed and divine power took the combatants. When the smoke cleared, the armies were nothing more than dust, ashes and memory. The two Bhaalspawn were gone. For the first time in years, the land was given a brief measure of peace.

X X X X X X X

Silence, in itself, can be deafening. That's what the impression was, at least, when compared to the massive clamor they had just been immersed in. No longer on the fields of battle, or in the middle of an explosion of death and suffering. Imoen sniffed once, trying to place the scent. Sulfur, that's it. She looked up from her new position, sitting on the ground, her eyes widening as she spotted the red and orange glow coming from the top of the mountain face they were on. A volcano... she would have laughed, but she found herself missing the other smell from the battlefield- burning flesh, that was it! It always made her laugh. Then again, a lot of things did.

Across from her, the giant of a man stirred, his armor shifting as he stood, shaking his head with the unexpected transportation... he had been so close! Where- he growled a curse as he took in his surroundings. Ruins, old debris that had once been a temple. Destroyed in the first eruption of this volcano... what remained would probably be claimed by the second eruption. Then he saw her... how he had been brought here could wait. All that mattered was the Throne, and if he could kill her now it would be his-

"Halt!!"

The voice that echoed through the clearing was powerful, radiant, so much so that its sheer tone was enough to command the respect and draw the attention of both Bhaalspawn. A dazzling light shone from behind her as the blue skinned figure descended, a gleaming white sword in one hand and engraved golden armor covering her with protection unmatched. Her eyes were a fiery orange, fixed on both combatants. "I am the Solar, messenger of the gods."

"Really? I'm Imoen. Pleased to meetcha!" Imoen grinned, surreptitiously drawing one sword from its sheath and slipping it behind her back while extending the other. "Shake hands?"

The Solar's eyes flashed again; Imoen yelped as the handle of her weapon suddenly grew hot to the touch- she let it drop to the ground with a clatter. She glared up at the celestial being with a sneer. "Meh. Not exactly playing fair, are we?"

"Quiet your insanity for a moment, fool." Sarevok snarled, turning to the Solar. "Why have you brought us here?! I demand to know why the gods have chosen now of all times to interfere with my ascendance to become the new Lord of Murder!"

"The gods did not send me out of concern for you and most certainly not for her." the Solar said with a frown, her angelic wings settling behind her as she landed between the two of them. "You have fulfilled the prophecies of Alaundo... the rivers have run red with the blood of those you two have murdered. The Realms have been crippled by your malice; the Bhaalspawn have sown chaos in their wake."

Sarevok grunted once, hefting his blade. "Should I feel pity? Remorse? You'll find I am beyond those pathetic emotions, Solar. Answer my question; why are we here?"

The Solar glared at both of them, and it seemed that she would have liked nothing more than to destroy both god-children herself...but her sword stayed at her side. She backed away, gesturing toward both of them. "It was the decision of Ao, the Overfather, that the Realms have suffered enough. Your battles will no longer plague the lands and wreak havoc over the innocent mortals who have endured so much. You armies are gone, and it comes down to this one battle. With the mandate of Ao, I bid you- finish your fight. One of you must claim the Throne of Bhaal... the other must be destroyed."

With that, the Solar's eyes flared again, and in a beam of brilliance, she disappeared. Sarevok raised one hand to shield his eyes from the glare, but as soon as it had passed, he fixed his eyes upon Imoen, a feral grin upon his face. "At last. I will admit, sister... I did not expect it to be you. Of all the god-children, for you to be the last one who opposes me... never would I have guessed."

Imoen stretched her arms back behind her, nearly falling over as she stretched, coming back to lean over and touch the toes of her boots, waving one finger at Sarevok playfully. "Always the last door you pick, isn't it? Shouldn't be any different with people then."

"Almost a shame..." Sarevok murmured, watching as the girl before him did a quick backflip, landing on a piece of rubble behind her, crouched on it like a giant cat. "The taint has driven you mad. Perhaps had you learned to control it, master it as I have, you might stand the slightest chance of surviving this encounter. As it is, you are nothing but dust before me."

"Mad? Oh no, not me." she laughed, cocking her head to one side. "I've just learned to get the joke. Everyone else did too. Well, it took a little persuasion, a few cuts here, and few limbs there..."

She leapt off with her head bowed, then looked up at him, a smile on her face that would chill the bones of any onlooker without trouble. "But they all got the joke in the end. You will too. And I tell you... its a good one."

For a moment, just the slightest moment... Sarevok was unnerved. He covered it quickly, sneering as he raised his blade, planting his feet to charge. "Oblivion comes to you, whelp... receive it well."

Imoen threw her head back, her hair flying this way and that as she tsked, a grin splitting her face as the volcano rumbled beneath them. "Oh big brother... you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to gutting you. No idea!!"

His eyes flashed bright yellow; hers were enveloped in blackness. As one, they came together- above the mountain, thunder echoed and lightning split the sky.


	2. Introductions

_"Be careful little eyes what you see  
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings"_

**Twenty Years Before Present Day.**

_It was a dark and stormy night._ The corny, overused and rather trite expression flashed through the cloaked and hooded man's mind as he wrapped the wet, brown robes he wore closer to his body. A pair of sharp green eyes sat upon the shadowed face beneath the hood, and there was no mistaking the look therein- he was not a man to be trifled with, nor a fool to be taken lightly. He stood by a large mound of stone and rock that formed an overhang, a small piece of solace from the elements that blew and swept the forested area with the fury of nature... perhaps in protest of the evils that were being performed upon her soil.

The wind picked up again and sent branches, leaves, and other debris hurtling through the air; the flaps of his brown robe whipped this way and that way as the storm grew ever higher. He suppressed a shudder as he drew further within himself beneath the small measure of safety he had found. It would not be long now... the darkness was growing. His allies would have to hurry, or-

The sound of a branch snapping in the wood surrounding him caught his hearing, and he immediately turned towards the source, his hands rising to draw the arcane symbols of protection he relied on in battle... no. He allowed himself a slight-very slight- measure of relief as he saw the familiar silhouettes of two friends... two very powerful friends. It was a good thing for that, Gorion decided, for they would need as much power as they could muster if any of them were to survive the night.

"Gorion... it is good to see you safe, here in this place of death." the elven warrior bowed slightly in respect to the middle-aged wizard, Gorion nodding back. "We scouted the area, just as you requested... there is no doubt. The Temple is here and the signs all point to the ritual being held tonight."

"Then it is good the Harpers are here." Gorion answered briskly, regarding the shadowed edifice in the very center of the forest, naught but ruins on the outside, but so much more within... "We cannot afford to dally any longer. Whatever evil that the High Priestess of Bhaal performs tonight, it must not be allowed to come to fruition. I will not see the Realms torn apart once more- one Time of Troubles was enough."

"I would agree... as would Erleth, and the rest of the Harpers ye have brought with us to this accursed place." the other man spoke finally, looking out from under his wide-brimmed pointed hat and his bushy gray eyebrows. "There has not been a gathering of our forces like this for many years, Gorion."

"Nor has there been such a need, Elminster." the wizard replied, eliciting a small chuckle from the powerful sage, the old man leaning heavily on the staff he carried with him.

"Very well then. Let the cry be sent and those who Harp arise; let foul deeds be undone this night!" Elminster declared, a presence within him seeming to grow as the old man demonstrated why he was such a force to be feared; he shouted one word of magical power and bright light blazed around him, lighting the entire area, blinding anyone who dared look at him-

The signal had been given and the sound of other wizards summoning their own magics and warriors drawing steel in the night rung as nearly fifty Harpers came crashing in upon the Temple of Bhaal, their purpose clear... the total eradication of the evil that dwelt within.

The sound of wet and old wood splintering signaled the entrance of the first of the intruders- even if they had not heard the intrusion, it was impossible to miss the dazzling light that shone through every possible crack and slit to the inside of the Temple... they were here. Who they were mattered little, only that they were trying to disrupt the plans of the Master- plans that could not be undone. Of course, that would be if she had even intended to resurrect Bhaal in the first place... and Amelyssan the Blackhearted, High Priestess of Bhaal, was most certainly not intending to.

Still, she clutched the staff spear she held and shouted a command in the tongue of the necromantic sphere, summoning beasts from beyond the grave as she stood at the altar; terrible creatures of higher fury than any mere skeleton or zombie, but liches and the spirits of past terrors, unnamed and faceless monsters that should have been left to rot the first time they were raised to fight for her. A warrior with blonde hair and pointed ears- a handsome looking elf, she reflected as she saw him slip into the main chamber, raising a sword in defense- and was immediately impaled by a mammoth claw, the massive undead behemoth she had resurrected leaning over with sickly drool dripping upon the elf, already in shock as it slid off the claw, blood pooling from the massive intrusion in his chest.

The blood ran across the cobblestone floor, seeping through the cracks, following the trace of the builders who had originally constructed this edifice in the worship of the newly deceased Lord of Murder- the blood flow was interrupted by five chubby digits, the hand of a small boy, his face covered in fear- he was sitting by the edge of the circular emblem of Bhaal, investigating the red lifeblood that was coming so close to him and the dozens of other children. The children... the sacrifices. The ones who would die that night to give Bhaal power for his resurrection- or at least the resurrection of his power.

Another pair burst in through the entrance to her left, and Amelyssan hissed, hurling her spear with blinding speed, impaling another intruder, this one a human, even as his companion, a dwarven cleric yelped as he dodged aside, his war hammer clutched tightly as he saw the chaos surrounding, the threats, the- the children...

Whether out of mere shock or righteous anger at the obviousness of what was to happen, the children seated beside the sacrificial altar or the knife waiting on the bloodstained slab of rock, the mothers lined up in ceremonial garb and chanting praises to Bhaal as their dark worship protected them, the dwarf raised up a cry and swung his war hammer, crushing the claw of another of her undead beasts who had moved to kill this new threat. It shrieked in pain as the massive weapon connected, and it was ill prepared to counter the second blow that came, sending it to its knees.

Amelyssan arched one eyebrow; these were no ordinary do-gooders. They were strong, well trained. Capable of causing her great strife, should she allow them to... she spoke the words inscribed upon the spear she had thrown and it suddenly appeared in her hand once more, the barbed tip of the spear glistening with magic and lightning. She thrust it at the dwarf, just beginning to turn his attention towards the woman who stood at the head of the altar-

Dark magic screamed as the spear tip erupted in fire and lightning, engulfing the dwarven cleric before he could even contemplate dodging or calling on the power of his god to save himself. Amelyssan sneered as she saw his corpse fall to the ground; perhaps this battle would be less of a challenge than she had thought to begin with- explosions rocked the entire structure as the second wave of attackers commenced, wizards and warriors and clerics and rogues, all flooding through newly create gaps and holes where solid stone and rock had formerly been. An arrow nearly struck her, barely missing as it made a strand of her hair follow in the wake of the missile.

She screamed in fury, raising a shield of magic to deflect another volley of arrows, countering with her own behemoths and undead forces that rushed into battle with the interlopers- the sound of a child screaming caught her attention. One of the god-children was perilously close to a tottering giant, the undead monster ready to fall and smash the young girl underneath- one of the intruders flew in at the last second, pushing the child out of the way, but too late to save herself. The woman who had saved the child's life was crushed underneath as the fight continued on, the full might of these Harper warriors unleashed at last.

Gorion shouted a set of incantations, fire sweeping the bones of the undead before him, destroying the minions who would seek to protect their masters- He nearly froze as he heard the sound of dark clerical magics being intoned, not from the High Priestess who watched from the altar, but the others, the ones who had been preparing for the ritual. Their magics were strong, here in this place... he wouldn't be able to weave a counterspell in time-

A blaze of ungodly power was deflected as Elminster stepped in front of him, his staff raised high as he batted the attack away without trouble. Still, his face was not at ease, or even endowed with any confidence. The wizard sensed something... power, the likes of which he had not felt in many years. Elminster looked back at Gorion with a stern look, gesturing towards the children, still very much in peril from both sides. "Something is amiss! We must not remain here for long- slay the priestesses and retreat! I shall deal with these beasts of undeath and shadow!"

"What about the children?!" Gorion shouted back, trying to be heard over the sound of magic and death.

"I will brook no arguments here, Gorion Greenstone!" Elminster roared, swinging the staff he carried to jab directly into the stomach of one of the priestesses who had rushed him, fingers stretching for his throat. "The children are Bhaalspawn... they are as much a part of this evil as the priestesses themselves! The power of darkness is stronger than I had imagined-"

"You don't know how right you are, old man!" the snarl came from Amelyssan above, finally leaping from her perch and landing before Elminster, throwing her spear to the side. "You do not face mere mortals in this place... you face Bhaal reborn!"

She threw her head back, and before their very eyes she began shifting, changing... becoming something greater. Red magic exploded in a sphere around Amelyssan, sending both Gorion and Elminster tumbling away, along with everyone else in the room, child, Harper, priestess or undead. Elminster pushed himself back up to see- a flash of claws and scales darted out to snare one of the Harpers there, his screams silenced abruptly. The elderly wizard felt something he had not felt in many battles... he felt fear.

He turned back to Gorion and grabbed him by the front of his robes, yanking him to his feet. "Get the others out! Rescue the children if you must, but get out of here now! Only I can face this threat... and I do not know if I have the strength to defeat it!"

"What-" Gorion had no time for questions as Elminster turned and hurtled towards the blur of evil and darkness in the center of the room, blood pooling around it as the number of corpses grew, both Harper and priestess.

He tore himself away from the sight and looked towards the children- they were scattering, young, but still bright enough to know when their lives were in danger. Few were even left in the room itself, most having been either spirited away by the fleeing priestesses or escaping themselves through the exits their wizards had created. Gorion dodged a Skeleton Warrior, whose blade nearly cut him in two, coming up with an emerald ball of magic to disintegrate his foe. He moved past, hoping to spy one- just one child that he could save from this madness- all around him there was death and destruction, and no child within reach, no life for him to save.

He roared a command to the others as he took a final glance at Elminster, white light surrounding him as he grappled and fought the avatar of Bhaal- fire began to sweep through the room, emitting from what had once been Amelyssan, high priestess of Bhaal. Gorion looked around desperately for one more child, anyone he could rescue from this hell-

He felt a strong hand grip the back of his robes and yank him physically out of the crumbling Temple, through one of the openings they had made, just before the explosion within would have consumed him. He tumbled through the grass and root-covered ground, rolling and grunting as the Temple before them collapsed, fires shooting up from within as the two combatants inside met their end- whatever end that may have been.

Gorion lay flat on his stomach, his savior lying beside him, on his back and unconscious from the concussive force of the Temple's destruction. It was unlikely anyone could have survived the conflagration... though Elminster had cheated death many times before. But it was not Elminster on Gorion's mind- it was the faces of the innocents, Bhaalspawn though they may have been- the innocents he had failed to protect. To save. Not even one.

He slumped back to the ground, joining his elven friend in unconsciousness.

X X X X X X

**Eighteen Years Before Present Day.**

The sound of the tavern's hustle and clamor was ambient white noise, a mere backdrop for those who inhabited the bar. It was not the wildest of places, nor the rowdiest of locations. One of the upper class bars, if the term could even be used in such a context. So it was no surprise to find patrons of a little higher repute than those who would normally be found in such places, women and men whose dress was a bit finer, their stance and their gait showing them to be of a higher caliber.

Still, the dregs and the drunkards managed to find their way in once and again, making it no real unfamiliar sight to see those down on their luck, those without hope or solace drowning their sorrows in the taste of alcohol. A woman sat alone at a table, her eyes blurred and red, a cup before her that was half-full; it was not the first time she had drained it that day, nor would it likely be the last. She sniffed, rubbing her eyes with one hand, wiping it on her clothes, which had once been fine, or at the very least passable in a higher class of crowd. They were stained now, dirty, looking as though they had not been washed or cleaned for some time.

The woman's hand shook as she reached out to pick up her tankard of ale again, the liquid inside sloshing as she began bringing it up to her lips-

A slender yet firm hand came down and pushed the cup back to the table, keeping it down as the woman frowned in dismay at seeing her drink denied, looking up to see the face of the intruder-

"You should know better than this, Mariah... a stout drink is no substitute for the touch of a friend." the accented voice brought a weary smile to the woman's face, her vision hazy but still clear enough to make out the face of one half-elven woman, her thin eyebrows arched in what might be construed as a bit of reprimanding, though the concern for her friend was still there. "Here... put away your ale and let our voices clear your head for a while."

"Jaheira... you're too good to me, y'know that?" she said quietly, Mariah's voice betraying a hint of guilt and fear, as though thinking that the druid would think less of her because of the way she appeared at the moment. "You've only known me for these past few months and you're still coming back here, checking up on me-"

"Think nothing of it." Jaheira waved her hand off, seating herself across from Mariah, the druid brushing a lock of her wild mane of chestnut colored hair from before her face and tucking it behind one pointed ear. "Now, what has become so urgent that you would drive yourself to the grave like this? The last time we spoke, you sounded as though you were making do just fine... it is not money, is it? If gold is a problem, surely you know-"

"No! No, and I wouldn't accept any money anyway." she coughed, looking around defiantly for anyone who might be watching or listening in to their conversation. Jaheira noticed, she took Mariah's hand and clutched it, trying to catch the distraught woman's eye.

"Mariah, it is just the two of us. My partner Khalid... even he is not here." Jaheira said, which although she did not say as much, was quite the feat. They were nigh inseparable since the last few months, but Mariah was her friend, not Khalid's... he could wait a day or so to see her again. "Please, just tell me what is troubling you."

The druid heard Mariah's sharp intake of breath, grimly hoping she would be willing to open up- they had only known one another for a few months, starting from an incident where one of Jaheira's first missions for the Harpers had turned sour. Two near fireballs, a brush with lightning and a sword wound to the side had left her in the streets half-dead. Mariah had found her before her enemies had and nursed her back to health for almost three days before Khalid and the rest of her team had found them. She owed this woman her life- she'd be damned if she couldn't find some way of helping her.

"You know... you know what kind of situation I'm in, Jaheira." she swallowed, her red eyes flitting back and forth, coming to rest far too often on the drink before her. "Keeping myself going, buying food and clothes and medicine for myself... I could make do. But with my girl... I just can't do it anymore. Not knowing what I know now-"

"Perhaps... perhaps Brenthan could-" Jaheira began, but Mariah merely raised a hand, her face scrunching in what looked like pain or bitterness, perhaps a combination of both. "He wouldn't touch me again, not even to spit on me, Jaheira. After... after I had the baby, and he discovered it wasn't his... I didn't want-"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Mariah." Jaheira stopped the fury of self-blame and anger that was surely coming on; she merely leaned over and caught the distraught woman's gaze once more, smiling gently. "Is the girl okay? Is she sick?"

"No..." Mariah's voice cracked- she could no longer hold back the tears as she spoke, "S-she's not okay... I know what happened, Jaheira! I know who she is, and... and... the priest knows, too! I thought I could handle it, but the priest sensed it when I took her to the Temple the other day, and I... I can't do it anymore! Brenthan left me, Jaheira! He left me because I told him who her father is... I can't do it anymore, Jaheira! P-please..."

Jaheira frowned- she was growing ashen, pale and cold in her sobs and hysterics- Mariah suddenly tumbled from the chair, eyes growing wide as she clutched her chest, the drink spilling to the floor beside her. Jaheira cried out and dropped to her knees beside her, even as Mariah gasped for air, her whole body trembling- "J-Jaheira... take care of her... please find... take c-care of... Imoen..."

Jaheira wasted no time, hurriedly weaving the incantations to her spells of healing, trying to halt the damage that Mariah's weak and broken heart was bringing her- her body was lifeless before the magics washed over her. Jaheira looked on her friend's face with sorrow and resignation, knowing there was nothing left to be done for her- she turned to the crowd, all staring at them as though they were some kind of sideshow attraction to be gawked at- she delivered the fiercest glare she could muster, sending most if not all of their attention back towards their drinks. Just another reminder of how much she hated the city and its inhabitants... Jaheira bent down and picked up the body of Mariah, mother of one, and took her from the bar. Her heart broke, knowing that it would not be her nor Mariah who suffered most from this... it would be a small, Nine year old, red-haired girl. Imoen. Orphan.

X X X X X X

A knock at the door came, this one being the third of such in a sequence. The beat was impatient, the one behind it obviously aware of the wizard's presence behind the wooden portal... no point in ignoring it and hoping that those waiting to see him would take the hint and leave. No, if it was who he thought it was, she would be here all night knocking and awaiting his reply, though with her feisty temperament, she might end up breaking the door down first. That would be a shame... it was a rather nice door. Oak, if he remembered correctly.

"Come in, come in!" he sighed, his back to the opening door as light flooded his candle-lit study, the man seated there rubbing his long grey beard with thought as he considered the next few words to scribe on his journal. He hated to waste ink and parchment, after all... He heard only one pair of footsteps enter his study, though he could have sworn there would be two pairs. He arched one eyebrow and leaned back, considering which of the two he was most likely speaking to. "Well then... where is your counterpart? It seems you two are hardly separable these days."

"Y-you know Jaheira..." Khalid's endearing and calming stutter brought a smile to Gorion's face as he turned and stood, facing the young warrior half-elf. "O-once she s-sets her mind to something, nobody c-can tell her otherwise."

"Indeed." Gorion said with a nod, pushing himself to his feet and striding over to his ally and friend. "I do recall speaking with her through correspondence on a few occasions about this matter... rather, denying her requests fully and thoroughly. I do not recall ever giving the impression that I was willing to change my position on this matter."

"She is... t-tenacious." Khalid offered up, Gorion chuckling to himself, shaking his head in acknowledgment.

"Indeed. Well then, where is she?" Gorion peered out the open door behind Khalid, frowning as he saw naught but an empty hall amidst the passages of Candlekeep. "If we are to banter and argue until I am forced to tell her no once again in person, I would do it quickly."

"S-she's in the archive rooms over in the west wing." Khalid said with a hint of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. "W-with the girl."

Gorion whirled to the half-elf, who was just beginning to get a sheepish look on his face, the wizard scowling as he strode to him and raised a pointed finger to his face. "Now look here. I dare say you brought her here on purpose, in the hopes that seeing her would force me to acquiesce, is it? Do you think I'll be naught more than a heartless monster in refusing to take this child in-"

"Uncle Khalid!!"

The high pitched cry came from a patter of small feet as a freckle faced, red haired little girl came darting into the room, throwing herself at Khalid's waist, the half-elf turning to catch her and embrace her tightly. "I-Imoen... did you enjoy looking through the b-books with Jaheira?"

"Uh-huh." she bobbed her head up and down, pointing at the druid as she came in the room right behind her, hands on her hips with pursed lips. Still, she snuck a glance at Gorion, whose attention, despite himself was on the nine-year old by the kneeling warrior and try as he might, the infectious smile that this girl brought with her had even rubbed off on him. "She let me read all sorts of stuff... but I didn't get most of it..."

"That's all r-right..." Khalid stood up and let Imoen's hand drop from his, turning to look at Gorion who had finally managed to reaffix his scowl, though it softened when Imoen turned to stare him in the face. "I t-think Jaheira needs to speak with this man for a while. W-why don't we take one more look at those-"

Imoen didn't wait to hear him finish- she zipped out of the room with no time to spare, Khalid going after her, desperately hoping to avoid losing her in the labyrinth-like halls of Candlekeep. As soon as they were gone, Jaheira shook her head and walked over to Gorion, the middle-aged man having taken a seat in his chair once more, glaring up at Jaheira. "How long did it take for you to plan all that out? The timing of her entrance, getting her into the Keep without me knowing..."

"A week or so to get everything just right, if you must know." she said with a hint of smug satisfaction. "Surely you won't begrudge me a bit of theatricality?"

"Not at all." Gorion said calmly. "It will make it that much harder for me to say no, though. But that was your plan all along, true? She seems quite fond of you and 'Uncle' Khalid. Would that make you 'Aunt' Jaheira?"

"Yes, well…" Jaheira coughed, a hint of red showing at her cheeks. "She seems rather bent on the idea that we will be getting... er... married. Pure child's fantasy, but-"

"But what matters here is the future of this child, this Imoen, and why you seem so determined to make me her guardian." Gorion cut her off, driving straight to the point. "I've seen her for the first time today. I didn't even know her mother as you did. Why should she be my responsibility? Why not you?"

"It should be quite obvious that the life I lead right now is no place for a child." Jaheira's eyes flashed, ready to meet the challenge in the wizard's voice. "And you just resigned as an active member of the Harpers... there will be little chance of putting her into harm's way inside Candlekeep."

"That is no sufficient reason for me to raise the girl." Gorion raised one arm, pointing at the door where she had left. "I've never been married, much less raised a child-"

"But you wanted to, didn't you?" Jaheira persisted. "You yourself told me of the incident a few years back... when you were this close to escaping the Temple of Bhaal with a child? To rescuing a Bhaalspawn? You seemed willing enough to bring up one of those monsters, and yet a child in such desperate need you would abandon?"

"I do not appreciate the implication behind your words, Jaheira." Gorion growled, the tone to his voice hard enough to make even the druid back down a bit. "That was... that was different. Those 'monsters' as you call them, will shape the Realms. It is prophesied... only a matter of time until the words of Alaundo come to fruition. I thought... I thought that I might be able to ensure that at least one of them- maybe just one might bring to bear a force of good."

He trailed off, looking down at the floor, neither of them speaking for a time. Finally, he looked up and spoke quietly, "How has she been handling it? The death of her mother..."

"Surprisingly well." Jaheira sighed, glancing towards the door, making sure they were not surprised by the girl. "She is in pain... but she tries not to show it. She hides it well- hides it beneath a mask of joy and carefree mirth. She has only opened up to me once, let her grief show. It broke my heart, Gorion. It broke my heart..."

Gorion exhaled loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What of the girl's father? You said that he left her mother-"

"After Imoen was born. I never pried into the matter, but Mariah said enough for me to know that Brenthan, her husband, was not the father. It was partly why he left her... but- hm. Perhaps..."

"What is it?"

Jaheira looked up with a frown. "Before her heart gave out... she said things. Spoke of a priest sensing something... that she had told Brenthan who the father had been, and it was why he left. I didn't pay much attention, she was dying... but-"

"But her true father might know more of the girl. Of why your friend fell into darkness so quickly? Perhaps... why she died?" Gorion continued, his own eyes dropping as he considered what Jaheira had told him... Gorion looked up at Jaheira again, choosing his words carefully. "This girl... when was she born? Rather, when did Mariah have her?"

"When?" Jaheira frowned. "Nine years ago. Why?"

Gorion nodded, making his own connections -_Nine Years ago... the Time of Troubles? -_ He swallowed, then smiled weakly at Jaheira. "No reason. No reason at all... perhaps I should speak with the girl."

The druid let her own expression turn to one of bemused expectancy. "Having a change of heart, are we?"

"Perhaps." Gorion shrugged. "I... ah. Here she is now."

The two of them saw Khalid and Imoen return to the room, the girl looking up at Jaheira with a grin, Khalid looking more than a little relieved to be back amidst the adults. Gorion knelt down by the young girl, looking up at the two half-elves. "I would like to talk with Imoen for a time... would you two excuse us for a moment?"

Imoen looked up to Jaheira, who gave her a comforting smile. She turned and nodded, climbing into the big chair at Gorion's desk while Khalid and Jaheira filed out, leaving the two of them alone together. "So... Imoen, is it?"

"Yep." the girl nodded, swinging her legs back and forth, hanging above the floor. "Who're you?"

"My name is Gorion." he said gently, extending a hand, which was promptly grabbed and shook vigorously by the freckle-faced girl. "So... 'Aunt' Jaheira has been taking care of you the last few weeks, then?"

"Uh-huh." Imoen nodded, shaking her head up and down vigorously. "She and Uncle Khalid. They're going to get married, you know."

"I wouldn't doubt it." Gorion chuckled, Imoen smiling broadly as she saw him laugh. "You know... you know that they cannot take care of you indefinitely, and that they would like me to take care of you."

"Why don't they take care of me?" Imoen asked with a frown.

"They have certain... responsibilities. The work they do... well, it is what I used to do myself. Their work takes them to places... well, it is no job or place for one so young as you."

"I'm nine years old!" Imoen said defiantly, folding her arms as she looked at the wizard. "I'm going to be a Master Thief when I grow up!"

"Indeed?" Gorion asked with a wry smile, giving her a once over. "And why do you think that?"

"I can hide and sneak real good, and I can take stuff from people too." she grinned, holding out one hand, displaying a small bag of coppers.

"And whose money is that?" the wizard folded his arms as Imoen tossed it from one hand to the other. "It's Uncle Khalid's. But I'll give it back to him."

"A noble thief then... you'll have to be very careful, won't you?" Gorion mentioned. "You wouldn't want to get caught now."

"I'm real fast!" Imoen said with confidence, jumping off the chair and doing a sudden somersault, coming up to stand on her head against the bookshelf- it only lasted a few seconds before she tumbled back down, hair flopping over her head to cover her face. "See?"

Gorion could not help but laugh, clapping softly. "Very impressive... you're quite the charmer, young lady."

"I like making people laugh." Imoen said as she picked herself up, dusting herself off with a small smile. "It makes me happy."

"And well it should. It is a rare gift, to bring joy to those around you." Gorion said as Imoen climbed back into the chair.

"That's what Mom used to say. She said I had a gift... she said I could make her laugh when she was sad." Imoen nodded, her smile slowly faltering as her thoughts slipped back towards her mother. "She'd be sad, and I'd make her laugh... but it didn't always work. Sometimes... sometimes she'd... sometimes she'd just cry, an... an..."

"And what?" Gorion asked, frowning in concern as Imoen's voice dropped to a whisper. "You can tell me, Imoen..."

"She'd look at me and cry." Imoen whispered, her eyes glimmering in the candlelight. "Just... she'd just cry, an... and- I didn't know why. Was... is it my fault?"

"No, Imoen... I'm sure it wasn't because of you." Gorion comforted, taking her by the hand as Imoen trembled slightly, the girl abruptly looking up at Gorion, her haunting eyes taking him aback. "She's dead now... it's my fault, isn't it? I couldn't make her happy and she died because of me..."

Gorion embraced Imoen tightly, holding her close as he felt the shivers of her body. He pulled her out to where he could look at her face, then rubbed a tear trail from her eyes. "No, Imoen. Never believe that, child. Your mother's death was not your fault- there was nothing you could have done. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Anyone."

She nodded once, giving him a weak smile... and with that one smile, that single look of gratitude- his mind was set. He'd missed his first chance; he wouldn't squander this one. He knew what she was- even if Jaheira didn't, or never knew. This little girl deserved better, and if he could change the destiny of even one of the Bhaalspawn... perhaps there was hope for the Realms after all. He stood up, taking her by the hand as he led her over to the doorway. "Come, child. Perhaps I should show you more of this place, if it is to be your new home..."


	3. Childhood

_"Be careful little feet where you go  
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow"_

**Twelve Years Before Present Day.**

_Alturiak(The Claw of Winter) 22, 1375 - The Year of Risen Elfkin._

_To my dear comrade and friend, E-_

_It has been some time since I have last heard from you, though I hope you do not take this opening line as anything more than concern for your safety. True, you are as capable of taking care of yourself as any on the face of Faerun, but it doth seem at times that trouble follows you more closely than others. Though I suppose I should not be concerned- if anyone is capable of resolving the conflict between the Zhents and the Plumes without finding themselves in the crossfire, it will be you._

_My charge is doing well here... she has grown into quite the talented young woman( all fifteen years of her) and become the terror of the Keep. I mean that in jest of course, but perhaps I should not be so light of the tongue... the gods know prophecy has a way of expressing itself in the most innocuous of ways. I confess, in all the time she spent here, I thought there would be some sign, some sort of... tell. A hint at showing what I believe with all my heart to be true. She is what she is, and I do not doubt it.., but it does not show. I should be glad... but for some reason, it concerns me more than not. As if her ability to conceal the taint within is more of a curse than a gift. _

_But enough of such dark thoughts- let me indulge in a bit of fatherly pride while I still have ink to write with. She is a Rogue through and through, and if she's not practicing her skills at sneaking up on poor old wizards and scaring them half to death, she's nabbing supplies from Winthrop's closet and then returning them before he even realizes they're gone. (It took me a bit of doing, but I pushed her into that arrangement) Regardless, she excels at anything she puts her mind to... and that smile- it still lights up a room, just as her laugh fills it. I have tried guiding her to a more magical pursuit, but it would seem that the path of the arcane does not appeal to her, and while I have no doubt she could be a mage of great skill and talent... she finds it boring. Imagine! Finding the art of arcane spellcasting boring... children. I suppose I shall never understand them- nor her- fully. _

_I feel I must also send my thanks- my utmost appreciation at keeping these secrets I have allotted to you. There are those in the Harpers who would not understand- it would have been hard enough if Jaheira and Khalid knew, much less those whom I do not trust. While I do not hold any regrets or harbor any resentment towards the Harpers, I sometimes wish I had declined the membership offered me so many years ago. I have made many friends and allies amidst their ranks, but the price... it is almost too much at times. At least, it seems that way when Imoen is involved. She is my little girl... as much as I have tired to keep an emotional distance from her, it has proven rather impossible. At the very least, I have not been forced to watch her enter the courting stage with young men, given the lack of boys her age here in Candlekeep... somehow I do not think I would bear that too well. _

_Ach- my writing hand cramps, and there is little more for me to say here. Only heartfelt thanks for the aid you've lent to an old man, and a reminder of why we do what we do. She is good... I believe it with all my heart. _

_-G_

The wizard grunted slightly as he finished writing, slipping the quill back in the inkwell as he tightened his right hand, feeling the bone and muscle inside cramp. He snorted once, pushing it away standing from the desk, regarding the letter he had written once more. The next time his personal courier returned from delivering a message, he would send it and with any luck, the wizard would receive it within the week. He was quite interested in Imoen's development, and while Gorion knew he was only doing as he would have done in the same position, it was still with a deep sense of protectiveness that Gorion let anyone near Imoen. Especially anyone from the Harpers.

"Oy! Ya little scamp!" The sound of dishes breaking and something hitting the floor with a thud- a large bodied innkeeper, Gorion guessed with a chuckle, echoed towards his private study, through the heavy oak door. Gorion shook his head, sitting back down in his chair as he awaited the inevitable burst through his door. Three... two... one...

"Gorion!" Winthrop flew through his door, his face red and cheeks puffed from the sprint that the big man had made to his door. His face was stern and hands clenched- whatever Imoen had done had rather gotten to Winthrop. Odd- usually he was either encouraging her or teaching her some other form of trouble to get into. "You've got to talk to that girl of yours!"

"Really?" Gorion asked, arching one eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, as she done this time? Stolen a set of your dishes? Snatched your coin purse?"

Winthrop shook his head and one finger, pulling something from the large pouch of his apron... something pink?

He held up a large cloth, shaking it wildly as Gorion looked at it oddly, trying to figure out what exactly it was... "Y'see this? Lookit this! It's a pillowcase!"

"Hmm... yes. I see that. I sleep on one each night. Generally it has a pillow inside of it." Gorion said, waving one hand for him to elaborate. "And this concerns Imoen how..."

"How?!" Winthrop threw the pillowcase up into the air, putting both hands on his slightly balding head. "It's pink! The sheets in each'n'every one of my inn rooms is pink! By Cloghammer's arse, they're all pink as a newborn babe!"

Gorion looked at Winthrop blankly... the right side of his mouth twitched just slightly. It was gone in a moment, but Winthrop caught it and snorted, shaking his head. "And ye call me encouraging of her antics. I let her get away with some pinching of my stores here and there, but only because she'll bring it back. This... this is serious business."

"Really?" Gorion asked, a hint of amusement entering his voice as he stood from the chair, taking the sheet from Winthrop. "I dare say some color would improve the drab look of those rooms within your inn. I'm sure Imoen was only thinking the same."

"Some new color?!" The inkeep's voice heightened, and it seemed for a moment he would blast out another verbal barrage of protest- he sighed, shrugging with resignation. "Eh... I have been meaning to get some new sheets. Suppose I shouldn't have mentioned that in front of Imoen, huh?"

"Definitely not." Gorion nodded. "Though it would be neglectful to not give her some kind of warning for this... I would be rather perturbed to find my own beddings dyed such a... flamboyant color. I shall find Imoen and pass along the message you'd be sure to give her."

Winthrop nodded as the two of them left the room, Gorion heading out towards the courtyard where Imoen was practicing her lessons, leaving Winthrop behind. The inkeep shook his head again as he looked over the pink cloth, scratching his head- he looked up at the retreating form of Gorion, shouting after him. "Oy! Ask her how she dyed these, too! I think the curtains might need some redecorat- ah, never mind."

X X X X X X

Gently... gently... a slight breeze kicked up the leaves in her face and nearly made her lose the careful balance she'd found, her unsteady perch swaying in the wind. She cursed and clutched the tree limb she was holding onto tightly until the elements decided to cooperate once again- she allowed herself a quick exhalation of breath, then stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, slowly continuing to creep along the branch, further and further out towards the end of the limb.

The sound of the guards below chatting and talking about matters of the day and their different activities they were getting ready for when their shift was over wafted up to her position, a good fifty feet above them. She tried to suppress a snicker as she mentally congratulated herself. After all, the guards were quite used to her trickery and pranks by now... especially Hull. How many times had he woken up late for his shift and gone off without his sword? Granted, the fact that she'd hide his sword so he couldn't grab it quickly before his shift didn't make things any easier, but it wasn't her fault he was bad at finding things.

Still, she'd done quite a bit today already- getting out of her lessons to dye Puffguts' sheets pink, dodging him on the way out, sneaking to the base of the large mulberry tree in the courtyard, then climbing up to the higher branches without any of the monks or guards noticing. She wiped her brow- made her tired just thinking about it. She rolled her eyes as another burst of wind shook her, the fifteen year old girl hugging the branch tighter. Roughly fifty feet up... a survivable distance should she fall, but Gorion would have her hide if he found out. Not to mention the bruises and broken bones... she shook the thought away and then continued on the branch, shifting the weight of the pack she carried on her back.

A little more... there. She was just over the group of guards, peering down at the bucket-heads and they were none the wiser. It would be a perfect time to drop something on them, maybe a bucket of water or some fruit... but that would require a quick escape, one which she did not quite have at the moment. Imoen slowly and very carefully pushed herself up until she was straddling the branch with both legs, then took off her pack and began rummaging through it. Her legs dangled and swung in sequence as she hummed quietly to herself, pulling the long cord of rope she had tucked away out, then leaning over and tying the most secure knot she could manage around the limb of the tree.

Here, of course would be the trickiest part... she pulled a small stone from her pocket, then brought one hand to her head to block the glare from the sun, trying to spy her target... there. The stables where Dreppin kept Nessa… that cow was having a fine time, chewing cud and enjoying life... too bad she got sick so often. Imoen tsked in sympathy for the farm animal, and then chucked the stone as hard as she could. The realization came to Imoen that she might hit Nessa if her aim was off- she closed her eyes in expectation of an angry moo from the cow- she sighed in relief and excitement as the clang of the stone hitting the roof of the stable echoed back instead.

Peering downward, she smiled to see that the tactic had done its job. The guards were all facing that way, trying to figure out what had happened- she dropped the rope, watching as it fluttered downward... just a few inches below the ground. She yanked on the cord, pulling it back up as fast as she could, biting her lip as she prayed the guards wouldn't turn around too quickly... it came above their heads just as Hull made an about-face. She only allowed herself to relax after the whole rope was back up, secure in her possession. She eyed the end of the rope, judging the amount she needed to trim... there.

She pulled out a small knife and cut a length so that the rope would hang about head level for the guards below to the ground. She shook her head, internally berating herself. Next time, she'd have to come up with something more challenging. She stood slowly, a bit wobbly at first, but quickly gathering her balance. With sure hands, Imoen tied the rope around her waist, securing the knot so that there was no chance of her slipping out and meeting a painful and rather sudden stop when she took the leap. Even as she snugged it tight, the sound of a familiar paternal voice caught her ears- she nearly fell, turning to confirm it- Gorion. He was coming out into the courtyard, the movement of his head suggesting that he was looking for her.

While the guards may have been stupid in their searching, she gathered it wouldn't be long before Gorion figured out exactly where she was... he was pretty good at that sort of thing. Personally, she thought he was just using magic to find her, but he protested otherwise. That twinkle in his eye didn't help his case any, Imoen thought with a chuckle. Either way, it was time. Imoen opened her mouth wide and stuck the knife blade between her teeth as she bit down, holding it firmly in place. She'd need both hands for this...

Gorion placed both hands on his hips as he stood in the courtyard, looking back and forth in a vain attempt to find his young charge. One of the acolytes outside had mentioned that he'd seen her enter the courtyard, though he'd not seen where she'd gone to. Gorion shook his head, rubbing his chin with one hand. He supposed a little magic would ease his search... a glare from the sun made him grumble a bit, placing one hand to his head as he looked up to find the offending surface- his eyes widened as he caught something else. The form of one fifteen year old, reddish haired girl standing precariously on a branch fifty feet above... and jumping off.

Imoen would have cried out in glee and excitement with the exception of the fact that her knife was still tightly between her teeth and losing it right now would either slice her mouth open or ruin the ending of her plan. Neither sounded appealing, and so she kept her teeth tightly together, watching as the arc she made with her leap brought her closer and close to her targets... she swung right by the guards and her hands dropped to pluck the helmet right off of Hull's head. She barely heard the sound of his confused curse go through the air, all three guards still unsure of what had just zipped over their heads- she only had a split second, but she tucked the helmet under one arm and quickly took the knife she had in her teeth by the handle, bringing it down to the rope that tied her to the tree. As she came to the far end of her swing, just ready to start coming back to the guards, she sliced the rope, sending her tumbling away from the newly enlightened men who were pointing and shouting in what sounded like a great deal of irritation.

She rolled to her feet after hitting the ground and took off, grinning madly as she moved as fast as her feet would go, sure that the plate-covered men behind her would be no match for her speed... she let out an 'eep!' as she saw the familiar form of Winthrop turning the corner of the outer wall, leaving her only one option. She made a hard left, ducking straight into the fortress of Candlekeep once more, leaping for the side door that led into the library's east wing. She slammed the door behind her, then jumped over to a different room, peeking through the doorway to see if anyone was following her... a hand landed on her shoulder causing her to jump in surprise.

"Ah! I'm sorry... I did not mean to frighten you, young lady." A man in his mid twenties, smooth featured and with furrowed eyebrows was looking down on her. He was not one of the monks, that much she realized right away- he was dressed in chain mail and looked like the squire of a knight or some other noble.

She looked him up and down once... no. She reconsidered. "You're not a squire, are you?" she pointed out, more of a statement than a question, just to prove herself right. It was obviously not the reply he had been expecting... he stammered for a second, and then shook his head no.

"Well, no. I suppose not, though most might mistake me for one. How did you-"

"No banner or symbol or crest-thing." Imoen said with a grin. "All the paladins and knights and squires who come through Candlekeep have one, and you don't. So... who are ya?"

"Ahem... my name is Veylar. Just an apprentice, passing through with my instructor. He has business with one of the wizard's here... Gorion. Do you know him?" the young man asked, cocking his head slightly as he looked at Imoen.

"Gorion? Of course I know him... he's like my dad, y'know?" she said with a laugh. "Well, but not really. But that's not important... why would yer master want to talk to him?"

"Well, if you will be prying into my own affairs, perhaps I shall ask you where you came by that helmet, rushing into this study with such force." he replied, Imoen glaring in return.

"Yeesh. Kinda defensive, arent'cha? Meh... if y'want to know so badly, I took it off of Hull. He's one of the guards outside... always wears it to hide the bald spot he's getting."

A smile crept over her face as she thought about it... she chuckled, bringing a smile to Veylar as he watched her eventually burst into a full on laugh. "You should have seen his face! Looked like he was ready to keel over when I swung over him and snatched it off his head... and that glare coming off his head? Hehehe..."

"Quite the penchant for mischief, eh?" he shrugged. "My master did mention you when he spoke of Gorion to me. Imoen, is it?"

"Yep... that's me." she said, putting the helmet on and shaking the man's hand. He couldn't help but snicker- it was far too big for the teenager and covered her eyes so that only the bottom of her nose was visible, along with a few strands of hair.

"Ah, but you see, now I could do anything without you knowing. Such as this!" he reached out and gave her a quick poke to the stomach, the girl letting out a cry of protest before grinning at the challenge.

She raised her hands as she tried to navigate without seeing, rushing forward to catch the man before he could dodge aside- a sharp rap on the top of the helmet made her wince, the girl pulling it off with irritation. "Hey! That kinda... oops."

She found herself looking up at a slightly peeved Gorion, Veylar looking sheepish behind him. "Oh... hi! I'll bet you're wondering how I got this helmet..."

"No, I know exactly how you procured it from Hull." Gorion said, folding his arms. "What I want to know is where your head was when you tried such a dangerous, foolhardy stunt! You could have-"

"Fell and broke my neck, I know." she sighed. "So... how many chores do I gotta perform to make up for this one?"

Gorion exhaled and glared at the girl- he turned and spied Veylar watching them, then cleared his throat. "We will discuss this later, young lady. As for you, sir, I have finished speaking with your master. He is waiting for you at the front gates."

Veylar smiled and bowed once, then snuck a quick peek at Imoen, winking once as she caught his eye. She smiled in return, but quickly hid it as Gorion took her by the wrist, leading her back towards the courtyard. "Now, if it's chores you're looking for, Winthrop has some sheets he'd like repaired... and as horrendous as Hull's bald spot is to look at, I expect you to consider giving his helmet back a service to us all."

She snickered... and listening to her giggle, he couldn't help but crack the tiniest of smiles as well.

Out in the front of Candlekeep's gates, the giant wooden slatted doors closed and were barred, leaving the horse drawn carriage alone as Veylar climbed in, seating himself across from the older man already inside. He was not as old as Gorion, though his best years were certainly fading. Gray began to hint at the edges of his hair, and his features began to look craggy rather than smooth. He adjusted the pin on his cloak, then looked expectantly at Veylar. "Well? Did you meet the girl?"

"I did." he smiled thinly. "She was... playful, to put it mildly. Nothing at all like what I would expect from a Bhaalspawn."

"Gorion's word was much the same." the older man mused, looking out the window of the carriage as the scenery beside them passed, the sound of the horses gallop thudding rhythmically. "Vehemently denied any involvement with the care or raising of any of the Children. After that incident at the Temple, then hearing about his adopting a child at the Keep- I couldn't help but assume he might've gone ahead and done it anyway."

"I doubt it." Veylar shook his head. "That young girl's no more a Bhaalspawn than I. I think the old fool's telling the truth."

"Perhaps... but Gorion is many things, and fool is not one of them. Show a little respect for your elders, Galvarey."

"Of course, Dermin." Galvarey said, bowing his head slightly. "Of course. May I presume we'll be continuing our search for god-spawn elsewhere?"

"Indeed." Dermin Courtierdale leaned back, clasping his hands before him. "They are still the key to our ascent within the Harpers, Galvarey… the trophies they represent will be yours- and mine- for the taking."


	4. Glimmers of Shadow

_"It's a slow fade when you give yourself away  
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray" _

**Ten Years Before Present Day.**

It was a quiet summer day, one of few in recent weeks. Much of the past months and days had been overly crowded, filled with the hustle and bustle of knights and squires and paladins and wizards, all very important and grand, all coming to the mighty fortress of Candlekeep. Each one had some business there, whether it was delivering some sort of tome or relic to its hallowed halls, or visiting one of the sages there(possibly her own father), or merely searching out the knowledge buried in the countless books stored in the libraries, it had not been anything resembling peaceful.

Maybe that was why she was enjoying herself so much- normally she wasn't much for studies and quiet contemplation. Better a quick wink and a prank that got her an hour's worth of cleaning than a day of boring study and lessons. Imoen chewed her fingernails as she read over the book Gorion had lent her from his own private collections. _Rogues and the Magics of Their Profession- _Imoen rolled her eyes a bit as she read through the seventh chapter, _Invisibility and Stealth._ Gorion would do just about anything to push her into the magical arts- she shrugged, turning the page.

The sun rose higher in the sky- just enough to send a glare past the trees of the courtyard into her face. She snorted, rolling over several times until she was in the shade again. Imoen blew out the side of her mouth, trying to rid her hair of the grass that was now stuck to her pink mane. It was to no avail- she pushed herself to her feet, grasping at her hair until it was relatively grass free. One of the younger acolytes walked across the opposite side of the courtyard, turning his head slightly to glance at her as she shook herself off- she noticed the attention and winked at the young man, sending a blush across his face. He hurried on his way, Imoen chuckling to herself as she settled back down to her book; all the boys her age around the Keep were either passing through or monks, totally devoted to their studies and/or god, with no time for girls like her. Not that she didn't enjoy messing with them whenever possible, just because she could.

Seventeen and still without a serious relationship- Imoen sighed, then turned the page on her book. Heck, even without a best friend. Winthrop and Gorion tried hard... but it was no use. They were like fathers, both of them, but not really her friends. Not really. If she didn't have the guards and the monks to mess with, she'd go absolutely crazy. That was why she loved anything new, anything different... different?

Imoen's eyes lit up as she realized something she'd forgotten- she leapt to her feet again, grabbing her book and sprinting over to the base of the tree where she'd taken off her boots. She grabbed them and hopped up and down on one foot as she tried to put them both on, biting her tongue in concentration as she finally got them on and laced. A twinge of pain coursed through one foot as she realized she'd gotten a rock caught in one of her boots- she'd have to get rid of that at some point. She finally slipped into the castle library, tossing the book onto one of the numerous tables- Gorion would find it eventually. Through the west hall, up the northern passage... one more right turn towards Gorion's study...

She whipped the door open, revealing three figures standing in the room, Gorion arching one eyebrow with a bearded smile as he saw her arrive. "I see you remembered who was visiting today. I had wondered if you would."

"Of course I did!" Imoen grinned as the two others turned to face her. She laughed as she launched herself toward them, embracing the half-elf warrior as he lurched in surprise. "Happy to see me?"

Khalid returned the embrace, then let her go, smiling gently at her. "Of c-course, Imoen. How l-long has it b-been?"

"At least three years, I should think." Jaheira remarked wryly, hugging Imoen lightly. "You've grown quite a bit; I assume Gorion's taken good care of you?"

"Meh. He does alright." Imoen grinned, winking at Gorion. "How long are you staying? You have to at least tell me about all the cool stuff you've been up to! Gotta have something to do around here, y'know?"

"Of course." Jaheira nodded. "We have a few things to speak to Gorion about first- if you would wait for us in the library..."

Imoen sighed, bumping into Khalid as she headed out the door. Khalid smiled at her as she left, his eyes widening as his hand dropped down towards his coin purse-

"She did it again, didn't she?" Gorion shook his head as his two guests seated themselves across from him. "She did the same thing the day she arrived here."

"I r-remember." Khalid nodded. "T-took me hours to get it b-back, you know."

Jaheira glanced towards the closed door, as though trying to spy whether the girl was eavesdropping on them or not, then turned back to Gorion, placing both of her hands on the desk before her. "She looks restless. Though I doubt there is much you could do to help that."

"True." Gorion sighed. "I do what I can for her... but there is always that void I cannot fill in her life."

"You c-cannot keep her here f-forever, Gorion." Khalid pointed out. "T-there must be a time when s-she leaves this place."

"I know... I just wish the days were not so perilous." the mage retorted. "I have kept well in touch with the events that the Harpers concern themselves with... none of them bode well. I am loathe to send her out there in times such as these."

"They will get worse before they get better." Jaheira shook her head. "If she is to make her way in the world, it must be soon. You cannot keep her hidden here forever."

"Hidden?" Gorion turned to Jaheira sharply, a questioning look in his eye. "What makes you think she has anything to hide?"

"Her? Nothing." Jaheira replied off-handedly. "But as her father figure, you naturally wish to protect her. That is all I'm saying..."

"Yes... yes, of course." he replied quietly. "What would you have me do then? Send her off into Faerun as an adventurer? She's only now seventeen. I hardly think she's ready. Unless the two of you are volunteering- she is quite fond of both of you, you know. I rarely see her as excited as she is when the two of you come to visit. You are both family to her."

"We cannot, for the same reasons we could not raise her when she first entered our lives." Jaheira shook her head. "But that does not mean we can't help prepare her. How is she in terms of combat?"

"She shows much promise in archery, though her skill with blades and staffs leaves something to be desired." Gorion said thoughtfully. "If you two would be willing, I am certain she would enjoy taking lessons from the two of you. It would save Hull and the other guards much grief..."

An excited squeal echoed from outside the door, eliciting a sigh from Gorion, who turned and shrugged at the two sitting across from him. Khalid turned around and sighed, shaking his head. "I e-expect my coin purse back, I-Imoen. B-before we start your training."

Imoen poked her head back through the door, a sheepish smile on her face. "Gotcha. So... when do we start?"

X X X X X X

The crack of wood on wood echoed through the courtyard of Candlekeep, underneath the shade of the tree where Imoen had been lying only a few hours ago, resting lazily and reading a book in peace and quiet. Now, that same young woman was covered in sweat, dirt, and more than a few bruises. Of course, she wasn't opposed to this... in fact, she was absolutely loving it.

A flash of motion and Khalid's staff was brought high, blocking a downward strike that Imoen made towards him. He pushed back as soon as the wood was resting solidly on his own weapon, sending her stumbling back a bit. Pressing the attack, he spun the weapon, doing his best to confuse her on which side he would strike from- the attack came from the right, aiming for her legs. Imoen saw the attack coming in the nick of time, jumping to avoid it- he changed the direction of attack, sweeping the staff end to hit the back of her legs and send her flat on her back. Imoen landed with a thud and rolled immediately, dodging the follow attack she had fallen victim to numerous times already- Khalid nodded in approval and stepped back as Jaheira took his place, her staff hand held away from her body, one end tucked behind her back and the other away from her legs at an angle.

Imoen made it to her feet just in time- the druid's attacks were much more stylized, much more fluid, if delivered with less power than Khalid's. Imoen struggled to find her rhythm and deflect the numerous attacks coming her way- she countered, but Jaheira deflected it easily and spun with the blow, sending one end of the staff into Imoen's stomach. She doubled over, gasping for air- Jaheira let up, taking a step back. "Remember, the end of the staff is as dangerous as the shaft. Treat it with the same respect."

"Got it." Imoen wheezed as she tried to get her air back. "Gimme a sec-"

Jaheira ignored the request and stepped in again, swinging right in a blow that would have sent her to the ground had she not stumbled away at the last moment, trying to clear her senses rapidly. "Enemies in the real world will not give you such breaks! Do not expect us to be any easier!"

Imoen scowled as Jaheira's strikes fell once again, this side and that- she spun again, the ends of her weapon nothing more than blurs as Imoen tried to figure out where the strike was coming from- she deftly leapt out of Imoen's range as Khalid ducked back in, bringing a powerful blow towards her left side. It connected, sending Imoen rolling across the ground. "Mind your surroundings, Imoen." Khalid advised gently, even as the young rogue struggled to her feet once again. "You must not become too focused on any one enemy, no matter how powerful they seem. The greatest warrior, even if he is in the midst of doing battle with a dragon, can still be felled by a goblin if he is not careful."

Imoen nodded, wincing once as she set her feet. Somehow Khalid's lessons always seemed easier than Jaheira's... although it might just have been the method of delivery. Still, the battle had been one-sided long enough. Time for her to take the offensive... if she could.

Imoen grinned as she swung the quarterstaff she held to the left, bringing the far end on a downward strike towards Khalid's shoulder. He dodged back, letting the wooden weapon fly harmlessly by, then stepped forward and over her staff, coming between the girl and the reach of her weapon, effectively neutralizing it... or so he thought.

Imoen yanked the staff backwards, letting it impact solidly into the backs of Khalid's knees, sending him to the ground without warning. He let out a yelp as he hit the ground, Imoen raising her staff high to strike- another staff smacked her in the side, knocking her to the side, rolling away from Khalid. She coughed and sputtered with surprise, looking up at Jaheira who stood by Khalid as he was climbing to his feet, another staff in her hands as she arched one eyebrow. "I think we've gone easy long enough... perhaps a taste of combat in the real world?"

"Hmph, you call that easy?" Imoen grunted, getting to her feet as the two of them slowly began to circle the rogue, Jaheira twirling her quarterstaff as she moved. "Guess there won't be too many one-on-one battles out there, huh?"

Neither answered her, but in a split-second it did not matter. Jaheira lunged forward, using the tip of her staff to jab straight for her side. Imoen managed to sweep her own blade around in time to block, sending the attack sliding past her. Imoen threw herself backward, anticipating an attack from Khalid- she was right, and it just barely missed, another straight jab passing right in front of her in an attempt to pin her close.

Khalid followed her dodge, sweeping it to knock her over- Imoen fell with the motion, lunging out with her own staff to try and knock one of their feet out from under them. Jaheira's staff slammed down in the path hers was following, blocking it as Khalid's came to rest against her neck, pinning the young rogue in position. "Do you yield?"

"Umm... yes." Imoen gulped. Jaheira pulled her staff away as Khalid leaned over to pull the girl up- Imoen swung her staff hard, taking Khalid off his feet as she had intended originally, then leapt up to swing hard towards Jaheira, a feral grin on her face. Jaheira was taken by surprise, but merely nodded in acceptance and let her own smile of determination show as she pressed the attack, her swings and strikes coming much faster and harder than Imoen had foreseen.

Crack after crack sounded as Jaheira connected, Imoen jolting with each hit, soon blocking Khalid's new strikes, but ultimately failing under the determined efforts of both warriors. Even as another strike landed against her ribs, Imoen cried out with the hit- she growled, swinging her staff in a wide sweep towards both of them. It was an attack borne from anger and desperation... and something more. It was faster, stronger than it should have been. Her eyes flashed golden for a brief moment as the staff struck both of theirs, splintering them as if they were nothing more than rotted tree bark. Without their staffs to block, it continued on to strike both Harpers, sending them flying across the courtyard, tumbling to the ground.

Gorion's eyes widened as he watched the two slowly stir, shaking their heads in bewilderment, Imoen dropping her staff and running to them, face covered in concern and fright. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to- it was an accident! I don't know what happened, it just broke and are you okay?"

Gorion stepped in front of the girl, kneeling beside Khalid as he finally sat up, trying to clear his head from the blow. He blinked several times, then looked over at the girl with a smile. "D-don't worry, Imoen. I-it's all right, I t-think we're both f-fine. Dear-?"

"I will be okay." Jaheira grunted, though her face bore a scowl as she looked at Gorion. "You, however, should learn to let your daughter take care of herself. You will not always be there to aid her in battle."

"I- what?" Gorion asked, confusion crossing his face.

"That stunt with the staffs. Enchanting her weapon with a magical charge- Not exactly the best example to set when teaching her how to fight on her own." she said, though her face softened as she looked at the calming girl. "That was quite the hit you landed, child. Though I would be careful about mounting a sneak attack upon your instructors when Gorion is not around to save you."

"Er... yeah. Sorry about that." Imoen smiled sheepishly, before turning to Gorion and slapping him on the arm. "Ya didn't need to help me, you know? I had it under control."

Gorion cleared his throat, managing a smile. "Of course you did. I shall try to restrain myself next time- why don't you get some clean towels and a pitcher of water? I'm sure everyone here should very much appreciate it."

Imoen nodded and took off, bounding into the fortress, set to bring the requested items. Gorion watched her leave, his mouth suddenly dry. The words Jaheira and Khalid spoke amongst each other were barely audible, even though they were right beside him. Out of all of them, only he knew the truth- he hadn't helped her in battle. There was no spell, no magical charge that he cast on Imoen's weapon. He had seen the anger build within her- felt the power rise in her frame as she struck back. And as he forced a smile on his face, he wondered just how long his little girl would remain as innocent as she seemed to be.

X X X X X X

His breaths came quick, fast, hard... frantic. Frightened. His whole body shook as he raced up the stairs, trying desperately to open the metal door in front of him... there. Finally. He pushed it open, tripping as he tried to escape the monster behind him. His body was covered in torn armor, battered beyond the ability of most smiths to repair. His sword was broken, nothing but a shard that would be nearly useless in battle. His shield... he had long since abandoned it to run faster. Not that it had mattered- he was trapped, here on this room of the Temple of Talos. The monster was behind him... oh so close.

He finally pushed himself back to his feet, barely hearing the sound of rain beating on the roof and the metal armor he wore. All he could hear was the thud of his heart, beating like it was about to push its way out of his chest. He looked around desperately, hoping to find a place to hide... nothing. The sound of metal on metal caught his attention, eliciting a frightened cry from him, unable to stifle his fear. It came from the stairway he had just climbed... nothing but darkness inside... nothing but darkness. And then, two sets of golden orbs, alive in the darkness. He whirled, looking over the edge of the metal railing on the roof- it was at least five stories up-

"You cannot run from me, young fool."

He whirled, pushing himself back against the railing as he beheld the sight of his tormentor. His bane. His doom. "No! No!! Please, I don't want to die!"

The hulking monster in bladed armor trudged forward, not even bothering to draw the giant sword at his side. "Quiet your sniveling, worm. Your destiny is to die at my hand... as is the destiny of all the others."

"I never did anything to you! Anything!!" he wailed, falling to his knees as the monster drew ever closer. "Wait! I can... I can help you! Find the others! I know where some of them are- I can take you to them if you let me live!"

His words were cut off by a large hand that closed around his throat, picking him up and holding him over the railing, his feet dangling as the rain poured downwards, running off his body and onto the ground so far below. Underneath the darkened helmet, two golden eyes narrowed. "Make your words count."

"Ack... Cand-ghh... Candlekeep." he wheezed out. "There's one in Can...Candlekeep."

His captor regarded him for a moment longer- the large warrior spat on his prisoner's face, lip curling in disgust. "Arrogant fool! Do you think I have not looked in that bastion of Harpers? There are no Bhaalspawn there! Die the death you have earned- for you will be the first... and I will be the last."

He unclenched his gauntlet, watching with disdain as the warrior fell all the way to the ground, his screams finally ceasing with the punctuation of broken bones. Underneath his helmet, Sarevok smiled- and so the hunt began.


	5. A Sheep Among Wolves

_"Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid  
When you give yourself away"_

**Nine Years Before Present Day.**

"Hmm... you might wish to tighten the left strap a bit... you would not want to lose your pack along some of the steeper trails. Trust me, child, I have-"

"I know, I know. You lost your pack down a mile long slope and you had to track all the way back up to get your bag. Uphill. Both ways. In two feet of snow."

Gorion folded his arms and arched one eyebrow with slight irritation as Imoen snickered at her own joke- the mage leaned over and yanked on the offending strap, tightening it close to Imoen's body. He nodded in satisfaction as the girl yelped, rubbing her side as she glared lightly. "That kinda pinches."

"As well it should." Gorion nodded. "That means it's tight enough. Now, are you certain you have everything you need? You know I will be traveling soon- if I am not here to vouch for you, the guards of Candlekeep will not let you in once you have passed through the gates."

"I know... and I'm sure I've got everything I need." Imoen rolled her eyes. "Bow, arrows, dagger, food to last a week- and more clothes than I'll know what to do with. Just like a camping trip. Heh-"

"This is not something to take lightly, Imoen." Gorion cut her off, taking her by the shoulders with worry in his eyes. "Most adventurers either die or retire within their first month on the road. I did not raise you all these years to have some armored monster leave your corpse on the road from Candlekeep."

"Way to build my confidence." Imoen snorted, though Gorion's features lightened as he looked in to her eyes, a smile crossing his bearded face. "I'll be fine... don't worry about me."

"I'm afraid that is something I cannot do, my child." Gorion sighed, brushing one lock of her pink hair out of her face. "You have been my sole family, Imoen. I have tried to raise you as best I could. I know... I know I have not always succeeded."

Imoen didn't answer... she was never good at this sort of thing. She simply listened as he continued. "I pray that you will take to heart everything I have taught you... and know that though you were not my daughter, I have always thought of you as my own."

He was about to speak again- she launched forward and embraced him, the mage smiling tightly as they shared a brief moment of companionship and love before she departed. He exhaled as they let go, looking up at the guard who manned the portcullis and gates of Candlekeep. "I believe she's ready, Farthon. Open the gates."

The creak of old wood and metal swinging wide and revealing her new future was but ambience as Gorion gave Imoen's hand one last squeeze. "Good luck, child. I wish you safe travels... and even more so, that you will make a difference in this tired old world."

"I'll do my best." she finally spoke, beaming at her foster father. "Isn't Puffguts coming to wish me goodbye?"

"I'm afraid not... he seems to have come down with a slight case of the Calimshan itch. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?" Gorion asked with a wry smile as she started giggling, walking out of the Keep... and out of the lives of those within.

He watched her go, slowly fading into the noon-tide glare of the sun, the faint lilt of her laughs and the sound of her own singing echoing back to him. Gorion watched, feeling a lump in his throat... it was time. He motioned to the guards above, then turned to see a figure standing beside him, clad in pointed hat and red-lined robes. The elderly men walked back towards the main fortress together with nary a sound. It wasn't until they were safely back inside the privacy of Gorion's study that the sage turned to his guest, shaking his head with worry and regret. "I don't know if she's ready, old friend. She's got so little experience... and with the way the Realms have been lately-"

"It is a perfect time to for her to make a difference... just as ye had hoped, yes?" Elminster asked as he removed the wide-brimmed hat from his head, revealing the snowy mane of white hair that adorned his aged head. "You know she could not stay here forever."

"I did. I just... it is not easy, letting a child go. I would feel much better were she with someone else... Khalid and Jaheira perhaps."

"Do they know?" Elminster asked with one arched eyebrow.

Gorion did not answer- he trudged to his chair and sat down, his head bowed. The silence was enough of an answer for the wizard still standing. He nodded in acceptance, shrugging as he took a seat opposite Gorion, letting his staff rest against the wall on the opposite side of the room. "Very well then. I trust your judgment in this matter, Gorion... though I fear for her as well. She is a Bhaalspawn... and many will seek her, as they have sought others. The Harpers have done much in recent days to find out just who is behind this string of killings- to no avail."

"Then perhaps it will help if one of us has a personal stake in the hunt." Gorion said grimly, folding his hands under his chin. "Imoen is gone... and I will protect her as best I can, whether at her side or a million miles away. It is time I rejoined the ranks of the Harpers."

"I had thought you might say that." Elminster chuckled, reaching into the pocket of his robes, tugging and pulling out a small pin, glittering on the simple silver chain it was attached to. "I believe this is yours."

The wizard handed it to Gorion- he looked at it for a moment, exhaled in acceptance, and then placed it over his neck, the Harper Pin resting lightly on his chest. "Let it be so, then. Let's get started... Candlekeep will be of little use in our work. I shall make preparations to leave immediately."

X X X X X X

The noon-tide sun had long since set to an evening glimmer over the horizon- Imoen squinted as she looked up at the faint flickers of orange that lined the sky and clouds, giving the outline of the pine trees in the distance an orange hue. She smiled, the anticipation of a campfire giving fresh energy to her tired legs. She had only traveled a dozen miles or so in the full day, but it had been absolutely exhausting for the young girl- she was most certainly unused to this much walking. Not that she would ever tell Gorion that- he might not have said 'I told you so', but the look would definitely be there.

The echo of a howl in the distance made her jump just slightly- she shook it off, feeling the comforting touch of the bow she carried and the dagger at her side. She'd trained hours on end with Khalid and was quite the shot, if she did say so herself. Still... she'd never actually shot anything that was moving and alive. Nothing to worry about though... most likely whatever she'd heard was miles away. The rogue flipped her hair to one side and kept moving- if keeping a closer eye out than before.

A slight rumble took her by surprise... she snorted as she realized it was her stomach. She hadn't eaten anything more than a few pieces of bread she'd wrested from her pack after leaving Candlekeep. She did have some dried jerky in her pack- the thought of it made her mouth water, so she pushed the mental image away, refusing to torment herself any more than was necessary. The sun had set completely by the time she reached her self-appointed campsite; the thief unloaded her pack and her bedroll, then proceeding to gather the stones and wood necessary for the fire she was looking forward to. She dug through the pack she'd placed beside her bed, trying to see using the moonlight and find her flint and tinder-

An owl hooted behind her, giving her a start as she nearly tumbled over, her heart pumping faster than it should have been. She turned around, spotting the glowing yellow eyes in the dark... it hooted again, flapping its wings before settling to another tree. She shook her head, going back to her task. She let out a sigh of relief as she found the items she'd been searching for; she also made a quick note to make camp earlier in the day... preferably before nightfall.

It took far longer to light the fire than she had wanted, and her arms were absolutely exhausted after the effort of getting it to light, but the flickering embers and orange glow was one of the most beautiful sights that Imoen had ever seen. She huddled up to the flames, warming herself- she rubbed her hands together, then reached into her pack, gathering the jerky she'd been trying... rather unsuccessfully, to not think about until she'd built the fire. She took a bite of the rations, scarcely taking the time to taste the flavor as she chewed and swallowed, gazing into the depths of the fire. It was surprising... she'd thought she was ready for this- being out on her own. Living an adventure of her own... and yet, here in the dark and alone... she suddenly was having second thoughts. Not regrets, perhaps... but it would have been far more comforting to have someone across from her... just someone to talk to, if nothing else.

The sound of a howl echoed again, this time... this time far too close for comfort. Imoen dropped the jerky she was holding as her hand twitched- she stood from the fallen log she'd used as a chair and grabbed a stick she'd placed in the fire to use as a torch, raising it high as she peered out into the darkness- a wolf stalked into the campfire light, jaws and teeth bared as it growled, stopping across from her across the fire.

Imoen swallowed as she went for her bow, slowly raising it as she drew an arrow, the missile wobbling as she put it to the string and pulled it back- her hand lurched and the arrow flew far off target, sailing over the wolf's head by a mile. It growled again, taking a step closer. Imoen forced herself to calm down, trying not to panic- another arrow went to the bow, the wolf already circling the campfire, drawing closer to Imoen with each step. She circled opposite the wolf, trying to keep the fire between them. She exhaled firmly, bringing the bow up and trying to remember all the training Khalid had given her- the arrow sailed out, this time striking the wolf in its front shoulder.

Imoen nearly shouted in victory, but her celebration was brought to an abrupt halt as another growl rumbled behind her- she whirled to see a wolf not ten feet away, stalking towards her at a frightening pace. She stumbled over herself, trying to back up- she fell to the ground, her bow falling from her hands. One chance- Imoen's hands went to the Wand of Magic Missiles that Gorion had given her before they left. She raised it and uttered the word on the side as the wolf pounced- an explosion of magic engulfed the beast, throwing it to the side as it tumbled away, most of its fur and skin charred and gone. She looked at the wolf in shock and awe, then back down at the wand. Surely it hadn't been so powerful- the memory of the other wolf came flooding back and she hurriedly turned, pointing the wand where it had been-

"Watch where you point that thing, lass! It might not hurt me, but I'll put a knife in your gut if'n ye blast me!" the rough voice took Imoen by surprise as she saw a halfling standing in the firelight, holding a short sword that was covered up to the hilt in blood- the wolf she had injured was limp on the ground, a large wound gouged in it's side.

"Who... who are you?" Imoen asked, swallowing with a hint of fright as the scowling halfling wiped the blood off his sword.

"Oh, pay no attention to Monty. He's had a rough day... and he needs to be tucked in. Isn't that right?" another voice behind her caused her to turn in shock, finding a tattooed human, tall and clad in green and red mage robes. "I am Xzar, and this is my companion Monty. We couldn't help but notice you having a bit of trouble here... as handy as that wand might be, it pales in comparison to a fireball. Hmm... a fireball sounds like an excellent idea. Good for cooking rabbits. Or Harpers."

X X X X X X X

A figure sat alone in the dark, in the dust. His fingers were steeped together as he sat, both motionless and emotionless. The sound of a rat scurrying across the floor got his attention- his eyes tracked the little creature as it moved- he pointed one finger, electricity surging through his hand and leaping out to vaporize the rodent. The corner of his mouth curled up, if only for a moment. He returned to his brooding, letting the few emotions he could still feel run through his body. Rage. Hate. Revenge. The knowledge of how fiercely, how cruelly he had been punished, betrayed. Disproportionate to his so-called crime. The faces of those he had once called friend... ally... lover- they all ran through his mind, strengthening his resolve. He let each face sit, flowing through his mind, body and soul for a moment, before pushing hiself upward, flexing his muscular arms. It was time to start making preparations.

He sensed her presence in the darkness behind him- he spoke without looking- "Have you found any of them?"

"Only one so far... the son of the leader of the Iron Throne. Sarevok Anchev. But I think he will be... problematic." she said silkily.

"I agree." he dismissed. "Let us reserve him for a last resort. Are there any others? Those who have demonstrated the taint within?"

"No... but I have contracted several organizations to help us locate our prey, as well as beginning the work of forming a guild within Athkatla. It is ripe to provide us the space we need for your experiements- as well as housing those we will need for the rituals."

"Excellent." the figure in the dark let himself smile, a disturing expression to behold on his grotesque face. He let his sister disappear, back to whatever she passing fancy she had found to occupy herself. He was patient... he had waited years for his revenge. He could wait a few more weeks. Just a few more. And when it was all over... he clenched one fist tightly.


	6. The Facts of Life

_"People never crumble in a day  
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade"_

**Nine Years Before Present Day.**

"And... well, that's about it. Not much to tell, really. I'm just glad ya both come along when you did. It could've ended pretty bad... hnh. Sure glad Gorion didn't see all that. So much for training..." Imoen sighed loudly to both herself and the odd pair who sat opposite her next to the campfire she had built. The halfling scowled as he tightened the short sword he carried at his side, leaning in towards the small flames and gesturing towards the visibly shaken girl.

"You shouldn't be walking about alone out here, not when yer naught more than food for a few wolves. To think what could've happened had we not seen yer plight." he leaned back once, still shaking his head in disapproval. Imoen looked at the somewhat unpleasant halfling... Montaron, that was what the human had called him. He had a rather harsh voice and unlike many of the halfling race, his face was not pleasant or inviting, more so affixed with a permanent scowl, accompanied by a mop of dirty and unwashed brown hair. His hands and leather armor were gritty and obviously well used- several throwing weapons were at his side, including daggers, darts, and even a few that glowed green in the night. She may not have been experienced, but she knew a poison enchantment when she saw it. He was not to be mistaken for anything other than dangerous... and with the faint aura of evil clinging to him, Imoen found herself vaguely uncomfortable in his presence.

"Monty, you should be more cordial to our new friend." Xzar tsked, reaching over to place on hand on Imoen's shoulder in sympathy. "She's had quite a night. Still, my little halfling friend here has a point. Few survive in the wilderness alone, especially ones as innocent and inexperienced as yourself. Perhaps you would like us to travel with you for a time? Surely we all could use the company."

Imoen was vaguely surprised at the sudden offer- she hadn't known the pair before her more than an hour at most, and they already offered her companions to travel with. There was something about them that bothered her... Montaron's aura of unpleasantness was easy to discern, but Xzar was... different. He seemed nice enough... but there were those flashes of oddness that crept in every now and then. Talking about rabbits and the like. Quite frankly, if Imoen didn't know better(and he hadn't just saved her life), she would've been freaked out by the mage.

But as it stood, she owed them her life. That wasn't something she took lightly- Gorion had taught her better than that. She managed a smile, still a little shaken from the ordeal, then nodded, taking Xzar's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Well if ya don't mind me tagging along for a while, I'd be happy to have some company. Pleased to meetcha both!"

Xzar laughed at the sudden burst of cheer from Imoen, returning the handshake. "Excellent!" his voice went up an octave as he said it- Imoen tried not to laugh as he cleared his throat and continued as if nothing had happened. "We'll move again once dawn has risen. Do you have a destination right now, my dear?"

Imoen thought hard... now that he mentioned it, she really didn't. She supposed following the road would eventually lead her to the next town- maybe where she might find a use for her thieving skills- but nothing concrete. So she shook her head no, slightly intrigued at the prospect of having a real goal and path in this new and unfamiliar life. "Not really. Where were you two headed?"

"We be visiting the town of Nashkel, lass." Montaron voiced, frowning as he chewed on one of the pieces of jerky Imoen had been in the midst of preparing when the wolves had attacked. "Pfeh. We might have to teach you a thing or two about cooking on the road, too. This be terrible."

"Nashkel... quite a nice town." Xzar continued smoothly, even as Montaron spat out the rest of the food he had been munching on. "We have business there; our employers wish us to do a little... investigating."

"Hmm... sounds important." Imoen mentioned offhandedly. "Who do you two work for?"

"Why? Is there something you want to tell us, girlie?" Montaron snarled abruptly, one hand going to the dagger at his side.

Imoen jumped at the sight, doing her best not to fall off the fireside log she was sitting on. "No! I just... well, I mean I don't know either of you at all, you don't know me...just trying to- um..."

Xzar sighed in despondence, shaking his head as he glared at Montaron, the thief slowly putting away his weapon. "No need for that, Monty. She's quite the charmer, don't you think? Nothing to fear from her."

"Maybe, but it's a sure thing and a half that we've come too close to disaster because of folks like her. All innocent until they slide a knife between your ribs." Montaron shook his head, turning to look at Imoen with a gruff snort. "I'll give you some free advice, Imoen. Three things you keep in mind on the road and you won't get yourself killed, which means you won't get us killed. Listening?"

"Er... yes, of course." Imoen nodded, even as Montaron grunted, leaning forward to prod the fire before it went out. He withdrew a small pipe from his jacket and filled it with a pouch of pipeweed, then brought it close enough to the fire to light. He took a long puff, then spoke.

"First- never depend on anyone but yerself. You think other folks be watching your back? That's when you'll get stabbed in it. Jus' because you travel with someone don't mean they're going to watch out for you."

"What about you and Xzar?" Imoen asked nervously, glancing at the mage... who was currently muttering something softly to himself, meeting neither of their gazes. Montaron turned away from his partner, swore quietly, then shook his head. "Nothing doing, lass- we're here together because the folks we work for put us this way. He blasts and burns with those magics of his, I stab our enemies in the back when they ain't looking. It be a necessary partnership, and that be all."

"Monty! I'm positively hurt." Xzar said, looking slightly miffed, before returning to whatever muttering he had been doing before.

Montaron's hand went to his short sword, but he took a deep breath and tore his attention from the mage and looked back at Imoen, meeting her eyes with his own. "That be rule number one, girl. Rule number two: ye never do anything for free and don't be expecting nothing for free. You hear stories tell of those tin head knights and paladins with their honor and all that crock? Bunch of bull, that's wot it is. Honor never fed anyone's belly nor bought them new blades and spells."

"But... what about-" Imoen struggled to find the words. The advice Montaron was giving her seemed so... foreign. Out of place. Unlike anything she'd thought or practiced before- nothing like what Gorion had taught her.

"What about what? Did I stutter, Imoen?" Montaron scowled, watching as Imoen bit her lip, trying to find the right expression of protest.

"I believe our little friend is of the inclination that helping people is its own reward, is that right?" Xzar piped in, Imoen's eyes brightening as she turned to the mage in gratitude. "Is that what you were attempting to say, my dear?"

"Well, yeah! Something like that." Imoen shrugged. "I mean, I know ya can't just go around helping people all the time... you gotta think of yourself too, eventually."

"Precisely!" Xzar jumped in again, cutting Imoen off. "You see, what Montaron is saying is not so much that you shouldn't help people... remember what he said about never expecting anything for free? Whenever you aid someone, remember that they must aid you as well, whether by gold or goods or service. It's simply how the world works. Why, Montaron and I have helped many people through our time together. You, for example... and in return you are accompanying us to Nashkel. In return for saving your life, we gain your help in our journeys. That's not so wrong, is it?"

"Well… when you put it that way, it does make sense." Imoen admitted slowly. "I guess I see your point."

"Fine fine, whatever it takes to get through that pink haired skull of yours. Now listen up, because I'm not done teaching you, girl." Montaron complained, drawing Imoen's attention again. "Third rule, and most important. Mercy? Don't even think about it. The moment you start feeling sorry for your enemies, feel like showing them some kind of mercy in battle or once they're down, that's when you find yourself bleeding to death on the ground. If you see your enemy on the ground, you keep slicing until he ain't breathing any more. Got it?"

Imoen listened, thinking quietly to herself... she spoke up, "Are you sure? There's gotta be some times when it's better to let people go. It could build your reputation or something-"

"Dead men make just as good a statement as frightened live ones." Montaron shook his head. "Got any more ideas I need to rid your head of?"

Imoen gritted her teeth, Montaron's attitude beginning to wear on her. She may not have been as experienced or worldly as this pair, but she sure wasn't going to simply sit there and take this kind of abuse from a pint-sized runt like the halfling before her. At least Xzar seemed to have some sense of propriety about him, even if he was a bit off. "Ok then Mr. Know-it-all, what if he offers some kind of reward for letting him go? Huh? Just going to let all that gold he's offering go to someone else?"

Montaron stopped for a moment, obviously taken by surprise by the sudden challenge- he hadn't expected her to even speak up to him again. It took him a moment to respond- he laughed heartily, nodding his head. "There ye go, girl! Now yer thinking proper like! Like I said, ye don't do nothing for free- like letting some fool live. Depends on the offer, but if it be too large to refuse, yer simply performing a service for the man. Letting him live in exchange for what he's got to offer. Right and proper way to help people, just like ye say!"

"Right..." Imoen said cautiously, Xzar bursting out in laughter along with Montaron, even as she added, "And I suppose that once you've got what he offered, you'd just go ahead and kill him."

"Harhar!" Montaron grabbed his sides, shaking his head in mirth. "I think I like this here lass, Xzar! She's not so daft after all. Give her a few months with us, she'll be a right fine 'adventurer', eh?"

"Most assuredly, Monty." Xzar chuckled. "Excuse his turns of humor- he does have his moments... but he likes you. I can tell. We've done quite a bit tonight- perhaps we should be getting to bed. We shall see you come the morn, my dear."

"All right." Imoen said, trying to suppress a smile as she stood and walked to her own cot and bedding. She was more than happy to have company at her side- being alone on the road was an undoubtedly scary prospect. Not to say these two would have been her first choice; they were a little rough around the edges, but in the end... how bad could they be?

X X X X X X X

Imoen tried to hide the fact that she was out of breath as she followed behind Montaron and Xzar, the two of them leading as they climbed one of the many hills on the road towards the town of Nashkel. Granted, they could have simply stayed on the road but the well-trodden paths were dangerous these days; the iron crisis making any weapons like the ones that Montaron used fragile and unreliable. Added to that were the bandits that constantly plagued travelers- even with her newfound company, Imoen was glad to avoid the more dangerous parts of the road to Nashkel. They were planning a quick stop in Beregost before they continued onward, just to restock their supplies and purchase new daggers for Montaron- the ones he had were already showing signs of the taint that plagued all the iron in the area.

To that end, they'd veered back towards the main road- they were almost there, but from where they were at it required them to cross some rather hilly terrain. To tell the truth, Imoen was not quite ready for the amount of hiking and travel they had done the past few days, especially in this type of country. The two she traveled with seemed accustomed to their pace, but it was hardly easy or usual for the young girl. That first day of travel she had undergone alone had been easy going, on the road and at a pace all her own. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Xzar stop at the top of the hill she was currently climbing- she sucked in air greedily as she stopped, ready to plop down and take a breather-

"Girl! Get up here and take a look at this!"

Montaron's demanding cry- hushed, strangely- pulled her back up though not without reluctance. She trudged the rest of the way up to the top, scowling at the halfling as she finally got to their position. "All right, all right... I'm up here. What was so important that-"

She stopped in midsentence as she gazed down at a caravan of large covered wagons, drawn by horses and guarded by several armed men, some carrying bows, all with swords at their side. Some of them looked wounded, and there were several bloodstains on the covers of the wagons as well as the men themselves. They were well within walking distance, although they'd have to change their angle to intersect them before they reached the treeline that led into the straightest route towards Nashkel.

"What's going on?" Imoen whispered, crouching down alongside the prone Xzar and seated Montaron. "What do you think happened?"

"Looks like a convoy... iron by the style of it." Montaron chuckled. "Probably heading back to restock when they got hit by bandits. Looks like they put up a fight... might've even fought the brigands off! Course, you know what that means, eh wizard?"

"I do indeed, Monty." Xzar grinned, his smile a little too malevolent for Imoen's tastes. Either he noticed Imoen's sudden look of hesitation, or he simply felt like explaining himself. Regardless, his face suddenly grew kindly again as he turned to Imoen. "Is there something bothering you, Imoen?"

"No... just wondering what you two are talking about." she said, trying to cover her discomfort with a sheepish smile. "Not too much to ask, is it?"

"Of course not, child." Xzar shook his head wildly, far more than was necessary to convey the desired expression. He finally stopped, his own locks of hair swinging to a halt in front of his eyes. He brushed them out of his hair with a wild frenzy of motion, then grinned at Imoen. "You see, iron convoys are so tainted that few bandits bother to strike them- and the mines scarcely bother to guard them with more than one or two swords. For there to be such protection on this particular envoy..."

"It's not iron." Imoen finished, nodding in understanding. Xzar veritably beamed with pride as he nodded, looking at Montaron. "Quite good, isn't she, Monty?"

"Heh." Montaron chuckled, checking the edge on of his daggers as he glanced back down at the slow-moving train of wagons. "Watch yourself girl- Xzar sounds like he might be getting sweet on ya. Didn't end too well fer the last girl he tried a' courtin. Turned her into a rabbit, if me memory serves me well. Made a fine stew."

Imoen recoiled in disgust, but Xzar simply continued as if nothing had been said. "Now Imoen, you've been doing so well. Can you figure out what, if not iron, this particular treasure trove is carting?"

"We've not the time for this kind of guessing game." Montaron growled, pushing himself to his feet as he gazed downhill. "Covered wagons, moving so slowly, this many guards... it ain't legal. Slaves, I'd guess."

"Slaves?" Imoen asked in surprise. "That's horrible!"

"Sure is." Montaron spat. "Unbathed, filthy folk. Catch a fine price at the market though... if the bandits did nae' kill them in their attack. What say ye, Xzar?"

The wizard studied the convoy for a moment longer, then shook his head in sorrow. "Too many, Monty. Far too many for us to kill. Not even with dear Imoen could we manage to dispatch them."

"But we can't just let them go like this!" Imoen cried out, looking at both of her companions in earnest. "There's got to be something we can do to save them."

"Open yer eyes, girl..." Montaron growled harshly. "There still be a dozen men, easily. We cannot kill them all-"

"But we could fool them!' Imoen said excitedly. "If they've fought bandits already, we might be able to trick them into thinking we're bandits too! We could ambush them, get them to surrender... trade them their lives for the slaves! We wouldn't have to kill them all, but we could just fool them into giving them up without a fight!" her words came flooding out, her head full of ideas and excitement, the prospect of pulling something like this off was going to her head and giving her new courage, doing some good in the world like Gorion had told her-

"You know, yer fool head ain't just for looking pretty." Montaron said slowly, slyly. "I think she may have something, wizard."

"Hmm... indeed." Xzar chuckled. "I shall depart into the wood- mayhap I shall find some rabbits while I wait!"

He laughed hysterically, scurrying down the hillside, out of sight from the convoy, into the outskirts of the forest they were heading towards. Montaron watched as Xzar disappeared into the treeline, and then looked up at Imoen, seriousness on his face. "Now listen here, girl. You keep your mouth shut and let me do the speaking. Yer a smart lass, but ye've got no scare in you. They won't take ye seriously- just ye keep yer bow up and trained on one o' their heads. Got it?"

Imoen swallowed, drawing an arrow slowly from her quiver, putting it to her bow. Montaron nodded in approval, narrowing his eyes, then noted how closely they were to the treeline where Xzar was waiting. He grinned, then nudged Imoen. "Lass- can ye hit the ground in front o' their front steed?"

"I... I think so." Imoen managed, only for Montaron to growl and grab her by the scruff of the collar.

"Don't be giving none of this 'think so'! Either ye can or ye can't! What is it?!"

Imoen felt her ire rise again at the manhandling by this ruffian halfling- she pushed him off, leaning close with gritted teeth. "I can."

He studied her face for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "That be more like it, girl. Go ahead and stop 'em in their tracks."

She raised her bow high, squinting as the sun glared, blinding her slightly as she tried to figure out the perfect arc to land the shot she was seeking... she closed her left eye, inhaled deeply, let it out halfway... she released the arrow, watching it with excitement and satisfaction as it sailed perfectly along the line she had drawn in her mind. It struck the ground before the lead horse, sending it into a buck, the guard beside it lurching back in surprise, immediately going for his blade as Montaron began descending the hill with Imoen, the halfling calling out to the men. "Aye! Ye convoy... hold fast! We've got a bit of proposition for ye to hear."

One of the men stepped out of the covers of the middle wagon- he wore an eye patch and was covered in scars and rough hide armor. A fresh wound looked like it had been gouged in his side, judging from the way he carried himself- Imoen found her mouth dry as they got closer and she could see all the guards crowding to meet them as their convoy ground to a halt. "What do you want?! We won't tolerate any further delays- state your business or we'll strike you down where ye stand!"

"Brave words comin from what looks like its been through hell and back already!" Montaron laughed, gesturing to the bloodied and battered wagons. "Ye've got some mighty precious cargo yer carrying... and I wager it isn't iron. Might I see the merchandise, slavemaster? Or shall me and me bandit lass be forced to kill ye for it?"

The man with the eyepatch flared his nostrils, and he gestured toward one of the guards with him. The man raised his bow- Imoen raised hers in return and for a moment it looked to the frightened young thief that her career in adventuring was going to end in a fiery hail of arrow. Montaron raised one hand, speaking quickly. "Ye might slay the two of us, but I wager my girl here can put an arrow through three of you before ye nail her. She's a nimble one. And that's not counting what's in that forest behind ye."

The slavemaster frowned, slowly turning to look- several dozen flames lit in the darkness of the forest- each one presumably a torch held by a horde of bandits, all waiting for their orders to kill. Their leader swore loudly, then walked over to Montaron, towering over him yet containing his rage perfectly. "Name your price, bandit. We're nae able to fight off you and your kin twice today, as you well know. Be quick about it before the Flaming Fist catches sight of our convoy and decides to 'help'."

Montaron smiled toothily, then held out his hand. "Only all the gold ye be carrying in your carts. Hand it on over and ye'll be on your way soon enough with those slaves of yours."

Imoen's eyes flashed in surprise as the slavemaster growled in impotent fury, he barked an order to two of his men, the guards slowly and reluctantly leaving their positions to fetch what Montaron had asked for. Even as they went to fetch the price Montaron had demanded, Imoen leaned down towards the halfling and whispered, "What about the slaves?"

"What about them?!" Montaron hissed back, his voice harsh but quiet enough to keep the slavemaster in the dark; fortunately, he had turned his back to them and did not see their exchange. "We cannot kill them all, and they'll naught part with their commodity. Aside, what brigand steals slaves and not gold? They'd know we were lying then, fool! Just shut up and stay quiet or I'll silence ye myself!"

Imoen wanted to protest further, wanted to say something, anything to stop the bandits, to convince Montaron or Xzar that they could still help the slaves- but there was nothing. She had no more ideas- it was all too late, now. The bags of gold were tossed at her feet as the slavemaster and Montaron exchanged a few last taunts and threats. She barely even noticed as the convoy started moving again- it would not be long before they were past and it was safe for Xzar to emerge, his role in their deception complete.

Montaron picked up the gold bags, weighing them in his hand with a sigh of contentment. He looked up at Imoen, the girl still watching the convoy disappear into the wood. He scowled and nudged her, shaking his head. "What be yer problem? Did you really think we could rescue them? I told ye, honor and goodness will never smith a sword. Saving them piles of rubbish would've netted us no profit, no gold to line our pockets or food to fill our stomachs. This, right here, is what we got, and it's something you can be damn glad we're sharing with you. Almost got us killed with your whispering and jawing..."

"Ah! T'would seem we're victorious, yes? Let me see our spoils, Monty." Xzar came bounding out of the wood, glee on his face as the halfling tossed him a bag.

Montaron laughed as Xzar opened the drawstring, running his hand through the contents inside. "Not too bad, wizard. Knew those fire startin' spells o' yours would come in handy for more than cooking rabbits and keeping the camp lit at night."

"Indeed... and for cooking the overly meddlesome." Xzar noted, glancing at Imoen, whose gaze was on the ground between her feet. "Are you all right, my dear? Not injured, I should hope?"

"No... no, I'm fine." Imoen said quietly... in truth, her mind was far away from the gold, the honor, or even Montaron and Xzar. It was on the sight she had seen as the convoy drove past them, on the caged elf she had witnessed inside one of the wagons, its cover half torn away. The blonde haired elf ensnared and imprisoned inside had caught her eye. She bore wings on her back, but they were no longer white and perfect but slowly growing gray and diseased from lack of use, fluttering slightly as she looked at Imoen in despair, a cry for help- "Aye! Do ye want your share or not, girl!"

Montaron's voice brought Imoen back to the future. Evidently, Xzar had seen right through her lie- he took her hand and placed a sack of gold in it. "There's nothing you could have done for them, my dear. Nothing at all."

Imoen looked down at the money, then back at Xzar. She finally nodded, shaking away the thoughts of the captive Avariel and how she had come so close to helping her... only to fail at the last second. "N-no. Of course not."


	7. Keeping Your Friends Close

_"Be careful little ears what you hear  
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near"_

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

The bell in the tower chimed several times, signaling the noon hour as the three companions slowly approached. It had been a long and arduous journey; bandits and other distractions had delayed their journey to Nashkel by almost a month. Their supplies were low, as was their gold. Luckily, their maps showed a Temple to Lathander in their general area around Beregost; after a bit of conversing over their predicament, they felt it wiser to visit and stock up on potions and equipment before moving onward to Nashkel.

Imoen squinted as she raised a hand, blocking the sun from her vision. She could barely make out the symbol of Lathander at the top of the tower, but it was vaguely reassuring as she looked on it. Not that she was one of Lathander's followers- if she showed fealty to any deity, it was Mask, seeing as how she was a thief and all, but she had no problem with the folk in Lathander's service. Montaron and Xzar, however, seemed rather desperate to avoid staying for long, stressing their desire to get what they needed and leave.

After speaking with them for a bit, she convinced them that if they found the people in the Temple so distasteful, she would be willing to take care of the details while they waited outside. Thus it was that she found herself entering the Temple alone, given the fullness of whatever funds they still had. All... five hundred pieces of gold, such as it was. She clutched the bag tighter, then pushed open the large wooden doors that blocked the entrance to the magnificent shrine to the Morninglord.

It was just as majestic on the inside as the outside, if not more so. Intricate designs covered the ceramic tile that composed the floor, and in the center of the rotunda that composed the majority of the inside, there was a large statue of Lathander himself. Imoen felt a bit guilty as she passed by the praying acolytes who were kneeling beside it, searching for the cleric who managed the stores that Temples held... there. She saw a man in the back, minding what looked like a large stash of supplies which they'd need for their journey. He was middle-aged and wearing the simple robes of a monk, a symbol of Lathander hanging from his neck, His face was pleasant and inviting as she approached, bowing once in respect for the young lady before him.

"Greetings, child. I am Kelddath Ormlyr, cleric of Lathander. How may I assist you?"

She grinned back, gesturing towards the supplies behind him. "Well, me and my friends are heading to Nashkel. We're a little short on supplies, so we figured we'd do a little stocking up here. Just the essentials, y'know. Healing potions, arrows, throwing knives... maybe a few swords?"

Kelddath arched an eyebrow, chuckling lightly. "Quite the list, young one. Still, we shall see what we can find. Take a look and see what catches your eye."

Imoen glanced through the supplies, picking and choosing what blades looked like they might last the longest amidst the iron crisis, finding arrows whose feathers were stitched well, and potions that were filled more than others. When at last she'd gathered everything they needed, Kelddath nodded in approval and counted up the price in his head. "Seven hundred gold pieces, if you please."

Imoen froze at Kelddath's words- she hadn't counted their funds exactly, but she knew for certain that they didn't have that much. Kelddath seemed to take note, as she glanced back down at her sack of gold again. "Umm... I don't suppose we could lower that any..."

Kelddath's face grew slightly concerned, noting the way Imoen looked at the items they had removed from the crates of equipment. Could he tell she was a thief by trade? "I'm afraid not. If you cannot afford the cost, perhaps you might simply decrease the number- although, I suppose- no."

"What?" Imoen asked, hearing the hesitation in Kelddath's voice. "Is there something we can do to make up the difference?"

"There might be." Kelddath nodded, rubbing his chin. "For some time now, there has been a tragedy that we have been unable to rectify. The mad cleric Bassilus, disciple of Cyric, has murdered many innocents, including his own family. We cannot let his deeds go unpunished- there is a bounty on his head, payable upon returning the holy symbol he carries back to me. It is a sum of five thousand gold pieces- if you and your companions are of a mind, slay him and return to us. Your goods will be waiting for you, as well as the sum of money that wasn't used in purchasing these items. What say you?"

Imoen barely moved- the sum of money that the cleric had mentioned was still resonating through her mind. Five thousand. Five thousand. Five with three zeroes after it. More money than she'd ever seen. Xzar and Montaron would never be expecting it... she grinned and extended a hand. "Sounds like a plan! Who's this Bassilus, now?"

X X X X X X

The burst of wind that accompanied the push of the door was almost enough to blow out the candles that lit the interior of the Friendly Arm Inn. A hooded and robed man strode inside, the ragged end of his gray beard just visible underneath the darkness of his hood. He closed the door quickly, then glanced about the room, ensuring there were no unpleasant surprises headed his way. No assassins or shady looking folk who stared him down. A relief, if only because of how dangerous he knew his mission was inevitably going to be. The wizard sighed, then made his way past the numerous tavern patrons, finally reaching the barman. He asked a question and was rewarded with a finger that pointed toward the far corner of the barroom, shadowed and occupied with a lone table. Two figures sat at the table, and underneath his hood, Gorion smiled.

The others had not moved yet, nor would he expect them to. If they were treating this mission anywhere as seriously as he was, they'd undoubtedly spotted him already, but would not make contact until he did the same. Just as he had hoped. He took an indirect route, sliding through half of the bar, watching the reactions of the patrons as he moved- nothing out of the ordinary. His senses didn't warn him of impending danger- and above all, he'd learned to trust his senses over the years. Finally, he moved to the pair who had been watching him evenly this whole time, seating himself opposite them. "I do hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"Not at all. On time as usual." the half-elf carrying a spear and wearing chainmail answered him evenly, the accent in her voice giving away her identity in the darkness without problem. He quirked a smile, then whispered a quick incantation, enough to light a small flame at the tip of his finger. He lit the candle on the table, finally illuminating the visage of Khalid and Jaheira. He allowed himself a slight sigh of relief as the barmaid arrived at the table to deliver the drink he had requested. "It does me good to see you both alive and well. For a time, I had feared I would not make it here alive."

"Bandits? Or worse..." Jaheira's eyes narrowed as she began to clench her fist, he waved her down, uncloaking himself as he took a draught of his ale.

"Nothing of the sort, my dear. Just a feeling, that's all. I fear that not even the secrecy of the Harpers will keep our plans from being discovered by the assassins that have slain our agents. So much has been lost as of late... despite all our plans, it seems we can scarcely keep up with the machinations we fight against. Three months of solid investigation and still no clues to the iron crisis."

"T-there has been t-talk of the bandit camp being located somewhere near A-Athkatla. Perhaps we should-" Khalid began, but Gorion shook his head, staring with narrowed eyes into his drink.

"No... just another false lead to split our forces even further. I have no doubt it is somewhere near the Gate... but I cannot begin to fathom where. I shall make it my business to discover its location in the following months... but until then, something must be done about the tainted iron. The crisis shall only escalate for so long before we reach a point of no return."

"I agree." Jaheira nodded. "The Nashkel mines are the first place I would consider checking... the guard there might be less than that of Cloakwood. Still- it will not be easy to get inside. The Iron Throne is keeping their secrets tightly guarded these days... if they're involved, they're doing a good job of concealing it."

"Then it is all the more imperative that we move quickly." Gorion exhaled. "I suggest you two head to Nashkel and see what you can discover there. Perhaps you can uncover part of this mystery... I will continue to hunt for the bandits' main encampment. I cannot thank you enough for aiding me in this venture... I know there is much you might be doing elsewhere-"

"N-nothing more important." Khalid smiled. He glanced at Gorion for a moment, then spoke quietly. "Have you heard anything of her in the months since she left Candlekeep?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Nay... but it is to be expected. I doubt she would be in any position to write or send a messenger. Probably stealing her way across the Sword Coast... I only hope she doesn't find herself on the wrong side of the law once too many. She means well-"

"We understand. If it makes you feel better, then we shall keep an eye out for her while we travel. If we see her, we shall pass along your regards." Jaheira said gently, before she noticed the door of the inn open once more, a man in a black sorcerer's robe entering with a grimace, scouring the room. Jaheira traced the outline of his hand underneath his robe- it was clutching something tightly- a dagger most likely. His eyes suddenly wandered to her and she cursed quietly, quickly dropping her gaze back to Khalid and Gorion. "At the door. One of the assassins you spoke of..."

"A-are you sure?" Khalid whispered, but Gorion calmed him with a hand, shaking his head slightly. "I feel it too. Calmly now... he approaches."

Gorion sipped the last of his drink as the black-robed wizard strode to their table, peering at the flickering faces before him. Jaheira looked up at him with a forced smile. "Yes? Is there something we can do for you? This is a private table, as you can see..."

"Just a question, that be all." he leered, getting a good look at Gorion as the elderly mage pretended not to notice. "Be your old friend here Gorion, lately of Candlekeep? I've a message for him, if it is."

"Well then, that depends on who you are, lad." Gorion answered, smiling at the craggy-faced man. "It's not wise to relay thine identity to total strangers, not in this day and age."

The man barked a laugh, then shrugged- Jaheira caught the slightest glimpse of his dagger peeking out from his oversized sleeves as he did. "Fair 'nough! I am Tarnesh, a simple traveling scholar. Will you tell me your own moniker, such as it is? I shouldn't want to mistake you for another, after all."

"Of course not." the mage nodded. "I am the one you seek. Now... just what business does a traveler like yourself have with an old man like me?"

Tarnesh grinned, and Gorion could veritably see the bloodlust rising in the fellow's eyes. "Ah... I shall explain. Hold still a moment, won't you?"

X X X X X X

Montaron swore in three different languages, jumping back and forth between the three as he peeked through the brush and cover that the three companions had found for themselves in their hunt of the mad cleric Bassilus. With some help from the Temple and a few townsfolk here and there, they'd traced their prey back to a clearing of stone and old forest south of Beregost. It was inhabited by many creatures of the wilderness, and they'd fought off several hobgoblins and wolves before finally ending their search. True to their leads, Bassilus was there; he was clad in heavy plate armor and carried a large mace. His hair was thin and wispy atop his head; a set of what looked like self-inflicted scars enshrined the parts of his head that were visible. He was muscular and a large man indeed- there was no mistaking that he'd be a formidable opponent.

More worrisome, however, were the numerous skeletons that bore shields and swords as they shambled about the area, mouths gaping and eye sockets empty. They had shown no signs of noticing the three observers, nor had Bassilus. Still, the fight did not seem an easy one, if even a possible one. Montaron stopped his expressions of disgust and turned to Imoen with a scowl. "This be the worst idea I've ever seen, girl! No amount of gold is worth my hide! Hair-brained scheme'll get us all killed..."

"If you have a better way of getting us the stuff we need, I'd be happy to hear it." Imoen challenged him back, clutching her bow tightly. "You sounded pretty excited when I told you how much the bounty was..."

"That was before I knew that the loon we were sent to kill had him an army of the dead at his side!" he hissed in reply, but Xzar simply continued to study the skeletons. He sighed with what sounded like contentment before turning to Montaron. "Such good craftsmanship, isn't it? I doubt my own pets would be so... complete."

"What's he talking about?" Imoen whispered, elbowing Montaron, but the halfling simply shook his head, growling menacingly. "Best ye not ask such questions. The mage gets touchy when it comes to his work. Now, do ye have a plan to go along with this? Tis yer idea, after all..."

Imoen bit her lip as she studied the area. Their one advantage was the large amount of underbrush and cover that surrounded the area. They should be able to move from cover to cover without being spotted easily. That would allow them to split their forces to and attack from all sides- but it would be little good once the battle started in earnest. It wasn't as though arrows would be of great use against the skeletal forms of Bassilus' minions. Still... the cleric's head was exposed. One arrow to the head was all it would take to end it right away... but was she that accurate? It was a forty yard shot, easily. She didn't doubt that she could hit the man, but such a small target would be a problem.

She exhaled lightly, then turned to Xzar. "Do you have any spells we can use to let us get closer? If I can get a better shot, I think I can kill him with one arrow."

"Ooo... a head shot." Xzar arched an eyebrow. "Quite ambitious, don't you think? We'll have but one attempt at this."

"I know." she nodded, swallowing hard. The ramifications of her failure were obvious without him stating them specifically. "I can do it."

Xzar glanced at Montaron... they did not speak for a moment, as though weighing their options. Finally, Xzar spoke again, shaking his head regretfully. "I think not, child. Far too dangerous- but do not fear. I believe I can annul our friend's family, as it were."

"Really? How?" Imoen asked, but Montaron shushed her excited outburst.

Xzar grinned, another of his vaguely discomforting expressions- he shook a finger teasingly. "Ours is not to reason why... ours is but to make them die!!"

The mage turned back to the clearing, slowly beginning his incantations. Montaron pulled at Imoen, pushing her on to a different piece of cover, giving him space to perform his magics, and with any luck, to draw any attention away from him. "I told ye not to ask, girl." Montaron whispered as they moved. "Let's just say he's got experience with the undead, eh?"

Imoen thought for a moment, before the idea finally came to her. _A Necromancer? But they're... aren't they evil...?_

She had little chance to say more before a purple and black haze descended upon the skeletons that surrounded Bassilus, their undead bodies trembling, lurching back and forth as though puppets on strings. The armored cleric whirled to look at them, worry and distress covering his face. "Father?! Mother?! What's wrong? What-"

"Now!" Montaron spat, goading Imoen on as she raised her bow, aiming carefully- the arrow sung as it left her bow, sailing towards Bassilus. It struck him in the thigh, the man shouting in pain as he dropped to one knee, eyes wide and bulging as he looked at the missile in his leg. His head swung upward to see Montaron and Imoen charging the field towards him. He howled an insane laugh, nodding madly. "Yes! Yes, I see! Come to join my family- of course! Greet them and join them! All of us, together again!"

Montaron growled as one of the skeletons nearby broke free of the control Xzar was placing over them, lurching out to swing at the halfling thief. He rolled under the blow, then slashed out with his own blade to cut the undead creature's feet out. It collapsed as Montaron pushed himself up again, facing the cleric who had done the same, not even bothering to remove the arrow that was still lodged in his body. He swung his mace wildly as Montaron drew closer, the halfling stopping just short of being hit by the blow- but not seeing the shield charge that Bassilus made with his other arm. The heavy metal plate slammed into Montaron, sending him rolling away, blood streaming from his nose. Bassilus limped over to the downed halfling, raising the mace with a feral grin- another arrow struck him, this time in the side.

Imoen grimaced, cursing her shaking hands as she edged forward, past the skeletons that were still immobile. She'd seen Xzar lose control over one of them already, and if he lost a second, one behind her, it would be all over. She needed to get a kill shot in quickly- body hits were slowed too much by the plate armor. She raised a third arrow and loosed it, only to be blocked by the shield he carried. Bassilus' face contorted in rage, before his eyes suddenly cleared, almost as though seeing her in an entirely new light. "You... you are not family, are you? No... I see what it is you hide! You are not my child- you are the child of my Lord's enemy! The spawn of my master's rival!"

Imoen didn't reply- whatever madness he was spewing, it didn't matter so long as she got an easier shot- a fourth arrow shot from her bow, this one striking him in the shield arm. He dropped the large metal protector, nodding furiously as he staggered forward, one hand reached out to throttle the life from Imoen. "Blasphemer! Lord Cyric shows me your nature! You hide it, but he sees! A Child of Murder, hiding in the pale coat of flesh! My master will not abide your threat! I shall not allow it!"

He lurched ahead, far faster than Imoen could have thought possible with an arrow in his leg. He covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye, Imoen yelping as she scrambled backwards, trying to keep away from the man's mace swing. The rush of wind from his attack swept her hair in its wake, but her momentum was too off-kilter. She tripped and fell, rolling over to watch in horror as he raised his mace high, ready to crush her skull. Without warning, he stiffened, gurgling in his throat. Blood began trickling from his mouth as he dropped to his knees, revealing Montaron on his back, dried blood covering his nose. His dagger was buried in the back of Bassilus' neck, breath heaving from the halfling as he yanked it out.

All around them, the skeletons crumbled and shattered, their threat ended as well. Xzar leapt from his hiding place, a mixture of jubilation and exhaustion covering his features. "Ah! The madman is dead, and we all live to tell the tale! I was so worried, Monty..."

"Shut yer yap, wizard." Montaron growled, but he did not protest as the wizard patted him on the back. "Just get the fetcher's symbol so we can get our reward. Next time be more careful, girl! I can't always be saving yer hide, y'know?!"

"I... I'm sorry." Imoen managed, looking down at the corpse in confusion. "He just went... I don't know what happened. Did you hear what he was saying? I don't know who he thought I was, but-"

"Eh, pay it no mind." Montaron shook his head. "He was insane, wasn't he? Forget it and move on. Aye, since ye be the one with the bow, how's about you take the lead?"

"Really?" Imoen brightened; it was rare that they let her anywhere near the head of their party, preferring to keep her in the background. _'Don't want to let anyone think we're weak'_, Montaron had explained. She nodded, adrenaline and exhilaration from their victory filling her as she moved to the forefront, heading into the forest that would lead them back to the Temple of Lathander. Montaron watched her, waiting until she was out of earshot, then nudged Xzar.

"Mm? Yes, Monty?"

"I be thinking our friend is more than she claims to be." Montaron whispered, a nasty grin crossing her features. "Mad the cleric may have been, but his words were damn simple enough to figure out, if one knows what he be speaking of."

"Are you certain?" Xzar asked, his tone dropping an octave as well. "She's such a cute little thing..."

"And be it a coincidence that we've heard tell of bounties on the heads of such spawn as of late?" Montaron smiled. "Perhaps we'd best keep a closer eye on Imoen, eh?"

Xzar watched the form of the pink-haired girl as she led them through the woods. He fingered his dagger, then giggled quietly. "Oh yes, Monty. Very close. Heh. Hehehe."


	8. Such Sweet Sorrow

_"Be careful little lips what you say  
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray"_

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

"Ahem... is there a problem, sir? I assure you that I have not forgotten the rules of the Friendly Arm Inn, if that is what you fear..." Gorion smiled kindly at the burly, armor-clad guard who was currently staring at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Perhaps he would not be drawing quite so much attention if there was not the corpse of one would-be assassin scorched into the wall behind him. The table that he, Khalid, and Jaheira had been seated at was broken in two, and all the guests inside had moved a healthy distance away from the three. Several chunks of ice were scattered around the area, as well as more than a few burnt pieces of furniture and tableware. The guard clenched his spear tightly as he leaned down, his height just above Gorion's.

"Is that so? Then perhaps you shall explain to me what has happened? We do not tolerate such violence and aggression inside these walls, as you should know." his pupils were dark glittering brown underneath his helm, glancing to the two half-elven warriors who were standing opposite of the old man. "Perhaps I should inquire as to what really happened in here?"

"If you must." Gorion smiled weakly, making a point to lean heavily upon his walking staff as he sighed heavily, letting his chest rise and sink with the effort. "I do think you'll find that not only my two companions but the rest of the patrons will attest to my simple efforts in defending myself."

The guard took a second look throughout the room, taking in all the collateral damage, then shook his head in amazement. "And what of all this mess? Was that all part of your 'defending' yourself?"

The old wizard shook his head sadly, looking more and more frail by the moment. "Come now, I am but an old man. Surely one as feeble as I could not have done all this, hmm? As I said, purely defending myself. Really, I could barely hold my own against that young brigand."

A look at Khalid and Jaheira elicited naught more than a pair of sympathizing nods, to where Gorion smiled and turned back to his erstwhile interrogator. "You see? Complete agreement. But... ah, I sense you'd still prefer it if we were to take our leave. Am I correct?"

He only received a glare from the burly guard in reply; with a nod of confirmation, Gorion gathered up the sleeves of his robes and motioned to the others. "Very well then, let it not be said that we are anything less than cooperative to the fine laws of the Friendly Arm Inn. Again, my apologies for the mess."

He did not look back once as the three of them shuffled out of the inn, down the stairs back to ground level and finally out of the gates themselves. Once there was a fair bit of distance between them and the inn, Khalid glanced at Gorion, whose face was barely holding back a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching every now and then. "One so feeble as you? G-gorion, truly?"

The wizard feigned surprise, shrugging innocently. "Of course. I'm nearly seventy, after all."

"You are insufferable at times." Jaheira declared, though her words contained no hint of malice in them.

Gorion barked a laugh at this, then arched a bushy gray eyebrow as he met Jaheira's half-accusing gaze. "Am I? Well, I suppose there is no denying it. You had to learn from someone, after all."

Khalid laughed at this; it wasn't long before all three had finally settled into one another's company again. Still, Jaheira was not quite willing to let the past events go so quickly. "Gorion... someone is after you. Your reappearance as a Harper did not stay secret for very long."

"Nor did I persuade myself that it would." he exhaled, his eyes firmly fixed on the mountain slopes ahead of them that would lead to the town of Nashkel if traversed properly. "My research into the location of the bandit camp's encampment...it is not a question one can bring up too subtly."

"Perhaps it might be best if y-you accompany us for some time, then." Khalid offered, tightening the sword on his belt. "Not to say you need our protection, of c-course..."

It was a credit to the wizard that he took the comment in the sense it was meant, giving little more acknowledgment than a slight nod. "Naturally. Still, I feel my presence would be more of a hindrance than anything to your work. I am known as a Harper through and through... you two can still keep a low profile in your investigations- something you will not be able to do if I am with you."

Gorion paused for a moment, taking in their current location, then exhaled deeply, taking Khalid's hand and shaking it firmly. "On that note, this is where our paths must part. My dear friends-I am glad to know you both. I only pray it will not be so long before we meet once more."

Jaheira leaned in to embrace the old wizard, giving him a tight smile as she replied, clasping her hands around his for a brief moment, squeezing tightly. "Take care of yourself, do you understand me? These dogs have already shown their colors; you will not be safe. If they are willing to strike in a fortress such as the Friendly Arm, there is no place that will be beyond their reach."

He didn't reply; a simple nod as he grasped his staff tightly and headed out and away, passing far and beyond from their company. The pair who was left behind exchanged a glance that said everything they needed to tell each other. Druid and warrior together as one, separating from their friend and mentor. Khalid could not help but take one final glimpse of the departing sage. Deep down, he knew Gorion could take care of himself; he hadn't needed their help in dealing with the assassin at the Friendly Arm Inn, and he could surely handle any others who were foolish enough to challenge him. Still, in that dark corner of his mind, his worried and doubts remained unanswered.

"Khalid? Are you all right?"

Jaheira's concerned voice snapped Khalid out of it- she was looking at him with lips pursed with what others might consider irritation; he had long since learned it to mean concern. He took a brief moment to wonder how it was possible that a woman like her had somehow fallen in love with him; he merely nodded and grasped her hand tightly, Jaheira letting show a rare, genuine smile as he kissed the back of her hand gently. "I'm fine."

X X X X X X

The clatter of armor shifting and the constant thud of metal on stone made a clamorous entrance to the town of Nashkel as the Imoen and her two companions crossed the bridge that led inside. Opposite them, mirroring their entrance in an exit was a battalion of Flaming Fist mercenaries, scarcely sparing the three of them a glance. Maybe it was the idea that a lanky, grinning loon of a wizard, an ill-tempered halfling and a pink-haired rogue couldn't pose a threat. Maybe they were simply busy with the threat of the day, whether that be bandits or monsters of the wood and plain. Regardless, their entrance into the town of Nashkel, as long-awaited as it had been, was slightly less climactic than Imoen had anticipated.

"So... this is where you two were headed. Not for nothing, but... why?" Imoen noted, taking in all the sights and sounds of the admittedly tiny town. It looked like one major road that encompassed the general store, the smithy, the Temple, the graveyard, and the Mayor's office. One offshoot headed south after the Temple, but it was all farmland for as far as the eye could see. Or at least, as far as the land went until her view was obscured by hills and the like.

The thief waited for an answer, but it wasn't long before she realized that an answer wasn't forthcoming. She turned and stared at Montaron, who was paying no attention to her. She sighed, leaning down to grab the halfling by the shoulder in an attempt to gather his attention- no, she'd best not try that. He had some violent reflexes that she'd noticed... best to simply call out to him until she got his attention. Less chance of bodily harm that way.

"Montaron!"

"Eh?!" the halfling whipped around, calming slightly as he saw it was Imoen, hands on her hips as she stared down the halfling. "What is it, lass!? I'm right here, there's no need for shouting!"

"You didn't answer me the first time, that's all." Imoen pointed out, not wanting to upset the ill-tempered halfling more than necessary. He had a short fuse as it was, and keeping him in good spirits wasn't easy. Especially when Xzar seemed to take a perverse pleasure in antagonizing him, despite his claims of innocence in the matter.

"Well I simply didn't hear ye then. What do you want?" Montaron glared as he looked up at Imoen... only it wasn't the usual half-exasperated, half-unpleasant grimace that Imoen had come to know and expect over the last month or so. It was more of a... a curious, questioning sneer. Perhaps a look of knowing criticism, something he found humorous about her that he wasn't quite willing to share. Regardless, she'd noticed it since they'd collected their reward from the Temple of Lathander. Things had changed, if ever so slightly, between her and the other two. Not something she could quite put her finger on, but noticeable, at least to her senses.

"Just what we're actually going to be doing here... you never did say why we were traveling to Nashkel. Just that you worked for people who were investigating the area." Imoen remarked, noting the smithy's anvil, resting outside the shop beside the general store. Her arrowheads were falling prey to the same disease of the iron in the swords; she'd need to replace them soon.

Montaron did not answer immediately, but seemed to share a look with Xzar before speaking to her. In fact, it was the wizard who spoke up instead. He cleared his throat, sliding to Imoen's side and slipping one arm around her shoulder. "It is time we told you our business, yes? The iron crisis, of course. We are to investigate who or what might be behind it... and why they are attempting to push the blame onto our employers."

Imoen would be lying if she said Xzar's arm on her didn't feel just the slightest bit creepy, but his words rang true to her. "Er... okay. So where do we start looking? The Mayor's office, perhaps?"

"Ye've a good head on your shoulders, lass." Montaron nodded, squinting through one eye as he gestured at her. "Precisely where we're headed. Still... t'would be wise to rearm our equipment and the like from that smithy. I'll take care of it- you and the wizard look around this rat-hole and find out what we need to know."

Even though she wasn't from anywhere near the town of Nashkel, Imoen found herself taking slight offense to Montaron's casual denigration of the town. Not to say it was a sprawling city like Athkatla or Baldur's Gate, or even as big as the full scope of Candlekeep for that matter, but his personality grated on her at times. That combined with his newly secretive behavior made a departure from his company, at least for the moment, a pleasant thought.

"So my dear... I've been watching you for some time. Did you know that?" Xzar's voice froze her just slightly, the wizard having leaned over to speak almost directly into her ear. At least he hadn't broken into his high-pitched, squealy voice. She cleared her throat, turning to look at the slightly-too-close man, smiling his inflappable grin.

"Ah... no. I did not, Xzar. Is there something you'd like to ask me?" she found the words to speak, even if they weren't what she intended. The wizard had to be dealt with lightly- his temper wasn't as unstable as Montaron, but she didn't care to upset him either.

Still, if her hesitation was apparent to Xzar, he made no indication of it. Instead, he merely leaned forward again, running one hand through his greasy, tousled hair before cooing, "Such a pretty, intelligent girl. I could simply eat you for breakfast... or lunch. Or dinner. Would you care to join me?"

She stopped herself from recoiling at the apparent threat and invitation to join him in self-cannibalism, then tried to rearrange his often unstable words into those which made sense. It only took her a moment, but she still felt her cheeks redden just a bit at the prospect. "Um... Xzar? Are you asking me out to dinner?"

"Something like that." he tossed out offhandedly, his demeanor abruptly shifting to one of nonchalance and intense concentration. He arched one eyebrow as he looked down from his impressive height at the thief. "After all, we must have time to discuss your training."

The abrupt about-face that the conversation was taking took her by surprise; it really shouldn't have considering how often it happened when she spoke with the mage, but she covered it quickly, curious at what he was getting at. "So... what kind of training? I would've thought Montaron would be the one training me when it comes to thieving and all that-"

"No no no no no no no no no..." Xzar laughed, before his voice grew dark, his eyes looking like dark pinpricks of light underneath the shadow of the day and the tattoos that surrounded them. "I'm talking about my profession... the one of magic. The one, my dear, that you are destined to master. I see it in your walk, in your stance. The way your very soul carries and expresses itself. You are meant for so much more than the life of a simple pick-pocket. Monty would agree. Here... take this ring. Training, remember?"

He took her hand and slipped a small silver band onto one of her fingers. She frowned in confusion as she looked at the ring, about to ask what it did- the sound of an irate halfling shouting echoed alongside several metallic objects ringing together; no doubt Monty had gotten himself into some kind of trouble at the smithy. Not surprising, considering his outlook towards the citizens and town of Nashkel. Xzar muttered several curses, a few which Imoen understood enough to be slightly embarrassed. He gave an over-exaggerated bow to Imoen, mouthing words that she presumed were 'I'll be right back', before hiking up his mage robes and running to his partner. "Monty!!"

She sighed, glancing one more time at the ring on her finger... whatever. She let it be, and finding herself alone for the time being, Imoen took the moment to explore Nashkel... for all there was to see. The houses weren't fancy or built with an excess of fancy material. They were simple structures, speaking to a simple style of living. Farmers, peasants, miners, a few guards and priests. Nobody of any importance, at least in the scope of her wandering eye. She wasn't about to steal from the poor folk who undoubtedly comprised the full range of Nashkel's residents. Still, it'd been a while since she had been given the opportunity to practice her profession of choice.

Xzar's words came back to her- it was the kind of spiel Gorion had kept giving her back in Candlekeep. Talking about her talent, her ability. While she admitted it would be fun to toss around fireballs and lightning bolts like they were toys... it all looked like so much work. Boring study and repetitive lessons for hours on end to learn one measly cantrip. No thank you. Still... she remembered the blast that had saved her life back at her first campsite. The ease with which Xzar had immolated the wolf which had been ready to rip her throat out. It would be a welcome addition to her skills with a bow... and Gorion would be so surprised when she saw him next!

She giggled ever so slightly at the thought, not paying attention to what was in front of her. What that happened to be at the moment was a mammoth of a man, towering over her with ease. She grunted as she slammed into him, her head tapping his stomach as she lost her footing and slipped to the ground. She rubbed her head with a grimace, before opening her eyes and looking up... and up... and up. The balding warrior leaned down, extending a hand to the girl with a worried look. "Are you okay? Minsc hopes you did not hurt yourself."

"Naw... I'm fine." she took his head as he veritably yanked her back to feet, the girl rubbing her hand after he let go. "Sorry about running into you... guess I just forgot to look where I was goin, that's all..."

"Minsc does not mind. Sometimes he forgets as well. But not now, no sir! Minsc is heading west, and he needs the aid of others to go with him! Will you aid Minsc in a quest for vengeance and the rescue of his witch?" he declared, locking eyes with Imoen, the girl quite unsure of what he was talking about.

"I... er, what?" Imoen stammered, the man either unwilling to slow or unaware of her confusion as he pounded one fist into his palm with vehement dedication. "It will be a battle of tremendous proportions! A whole fortress of the evil gnoll creatures, holding my witch captive! It is my failure that I could not protect her, but with the aid of others we shall set her free! Isn't that right, Boo?"

Imoen didn't know whether to laugh or cry as a furry hamster scooted across the man's armor, finally settling on his shoulder pauldron. He looked down at Imoen again, obviously proud of himself and the hamster. "Well? What say you? Heh, there shall be plenty of butt-kicking to go around, you know!"

She considered her words carefully... the man was just as odd as Xzar, if in a slightly less creepy fashion. Added to his imposing height, the muscles on his arms that could surely break her in two with a minimum of effort, and the fact that he kept a hamster for company... at the very least she should talk to Montaron and Xzar before saying anything more. She could hear Montaron's voice already, _'Is he offering a reward? No? Blast it girl, don' ye remember the rules I told you?!' _

She cleared her throat, summoning her courage. "Er... so it's a rescue mission, right? And you're looking for people to help you out, I caught that much. Is there... is there a reward for her safety?"

"Reward?" Minsc's brow furrowed as he spoke, and for a moment Imoen feared her life was going to end at the hands of an oversized ranger, but her fears were alleviated when he simply shook his head, though his face seemed to lose some of the hope it had held before. "No... Minsc goes to save his witch! His job is to protect her, and unless she is returned, he will be a failure! Is the thrashing of evil not reward enough?"

He was so earnest, so... well, desperate, if the look in his eyes said anything at all. Imoen glanced back at the smithy where Montaron and Xzar had yet to return from; she cursed and looked up at Minsc patting his arm once. "I have to go ask my friends, okay? I'll be right back."

She turned and zipped away from the ranger, already plotting and planning in her mind a way to persuade her companions to aid the beleaguered man. She looked back at him as she ran to the smithy, as though to make sure he was not following her or disappearing on her- once again she found herself slamming into a body that sent her to the ground. She growled, quite displeased with the repeat performance, especially for one who was supposed to be a lithe, dexterous thief. "Watch where yer headed!"

"I-Imoen?"

The surprised stutter was enough to freeze her, and Imoen looked up with a cry of joy and shock as she saw both Khalid and Jaheira standing above her, realization crossing their faces as they saw who had bounced off their armor. She leapt to her feet, laughing as she embraced both of them in turn. "What are you two doing here? Never thought I'd run into you two on the road!"

"You'd be surprised." Jaheira remarked dryly, looking her up and down. "We met up with Gorion not two days ago at the Friendly Arm Inn- he told us to pass along his regards should we find you. I had not imagined it would be so soon."

"You l-look like you've d-done well for yourself." Khalid noted kindly, feeling the quality of the leather armor she was wearing. "Is t-that a lightning enchantment on your bow?"

"Yep." Imoen grinned, showing the weapon to them. "Picked it up at the store in Beregost. Cost a lot, too."

Jaheira arched an eyebrow at that, inspecting the weapon for a moment before handing it back to her. "And how many guards ended up on your hide after you stole the money for it?"

"Hey!" Imoen said, slightly miffed at the accusation. "For your information, I haven't stole a thing since Candlekeep. Sheesh... it's like there aren't any rich people around here. Beregost, Nashkel... nothing."

"That's because most of them have private estates or live in a city like the Gate." Jaheira said with a trace hint of smugness in her tone. "If not by pilfering others' valuables, how have you spent your time as an adventurer thus far?"

"Well... I guess the big thing was killing that Bassilus guy-" Imoen began, before pausing as she noticed the surprise on the faces of her old mentors. "Um... you guys okay?"

"You k-killed Bassilus?" Khalid asked, his face alternately switching from surprise to pride. "His bounty's been out f-for some time. W-we heard it had been claimed, b-but..."

Jaheira finished for him, letting a hint of commendation into her voice. "We never expected it would be you who was collecting."

Imoen couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed at their praise; she shrugged and thumbed towards the smithy. "Meh, it wasn't just me, y'know. I've been traveling with two guys I met on the road outside of Candlekeep. They..."

The two suddenly appeared, stumbling out of the smithy as the owner appeared at the door, shouting a few profanities as Montaron returned the gestures two-fold. Xzar was muttering to himself, not taking notice of either side as they left the man and his shop behind. Imoen winced and forced a smile as she looked up at a highly dubious Jaheira. "Er... not the best impression, I know."

"What gave you that idea?" Jaheira shot back, keeping her expression neutral as the pair approached Imoen, eyeing Jaheira and Khalid with suspicion.

"Imoen! Blasted wretch calls himself a smithy... we'll find equipment elsewhere. Ah... who're these folk?"

"Um... Montaron, Xzar, these are my old friends, Khalid and Jaheira." Imoen introduced, gesturing to each in turn. "I've known them my whole life."

Khalid extended a hand to the pair, though Xzar simply stared at the gesture as though unfamiliar with the custom. It was left in the air just long enough to be awkward before Imoen coughed, turning to the Harper pair. "So... why are you here, anyway?"

"The iron crisis." Jaheira said evenly, keeping her eyes fixed on Imoen as she spoke, though she never let either of the other two out of her sight. "The mines near Nashkel have always been some of the greatest sources of iron ore; perhaps the miners there know what has changed within the iron."

Imoen's eyes lit up as she listened, looking back at the suddenly suspicious Montaron and Xzar. "Huh! That's why these two are here- we're investigating the iron crisis too. Apparently their employers are looking into it too. I-"

"That be enough, girl." Montaron growled, cutting Imoen off before squinting at Jaheira and Khalid with no effort to hide his contempt. "Tell me, tall folk... who exactly are you working for? Why does this matter concern you at all?"

"I might ask you the same question, short one." Jaheira tossed back, the edge in her voice as disconcerting to Imoen as Montaron's. "You and your wizard companion remind me of unsavory types that my husband and I have previously met... perhaps other associates of your employer?"

"I doubt it." Xzar snarled, cracking the knuckles on one hand without using the other- simply flexing each finger in turn. "You would not have survived the encounter. It does not take much to recognize the stench of self-righteous Harpers in the air, eh Monty?"

Jaheira's eyes flared as she moved to strike, a pre-emptive assault against the attack that was sure to come in moments- Imoen flung herself between the two groups, eyes wide with concern. "Hey! What's going on here?! I don't understand..."

"Get out of the way, Imoen." Jaheira said grimly, eyes firmly fixed on Xzar, even as Khalid put one hand to the hilt of his long sword, meeting Montaron's spiteful sneer. "These two are Zhentarim agents... enemies of our organization, and most assuredly evil."

"A laughable claim, coming from self-proclaimed Harpers!" Montaron spat. "You should be glad the lass stepped in or you'd be on the ground bleeding by now."

"Enough!" Imoen cried out. "Nobody's killing anyone here, got it?!"

"Imoen, you do not understand!" Jaheira hissed, taking Imoen by the collar as she tried to make her understand. "These two cannot be trusted. You're lucky you've survived this long in their company."

"That's not true!" Imoen shot back, pushing away from Jaheira's grip. "I'd be dead right now if not for them. They saved my life- I owe them for that!"

Her words were a surprise to Khalid and Jaheira, but they were not dissuaded so easily. "Imoen, if they showed you any kindness, it was for their own benefit. The Zhentarim are ruthless murderers who care only for power. If you're not one of them, then you're simply an asset to be used and discarded."

Imoen found her throat dry and unsure of how to continue- on the one hand, she didn't want to believe their words. The pair was odd and surely not the sort she'd have found herself traveling with on first choice... but they'd saved her life and she felt a sense of loyalty to them for that. On the other hand, she couldn't just throw away the advice of her oldest friends so quickly... she glanced back at the scowling faces of Montaron and Xzar, unsure of who to trust or defend-

"Imoen... y-you have to make your own choices. But we'll n-never stop trying to protect you. T-that's all we're trying to do here. Please, c-come with us." Khalid's calm, friendly voice cut through her doubts without hesitation. She looked back to her old friend and the gentle nature always present in his eyes and half-elven features. She made up her mind-

"Well Imoen, we can't simply expect you to do abandon your old friends like this, can we?" Xzar's voice took them all by surprise, including Montaron who looked up at him in shock as he suddenly calmed, taking to picking at his fingernails as he spoke. "These… these so-called friends of yours are right about one thing; we are Zhentarim, though I maintain that we never had any intention of harming you. Still, your loyalty runs deeply... we know by experience. We shall continue our investigations without you, if we must... it has been a pleasure to enjoy your company."

The others remained silent, surely surprised by this development... Imoen as much as any of them. Still, his words tugged at her just enough for her to make a decision. Rather, an amendment to her decision. She turned back to Khalid and Jaheira, nodding firmly to them. "Okay... I'll go with you guys. But you have to promise me you won't hurt them. They saved my life, and I owe them for that."

Khalid smiled at her and nodded, admiring the loyalty in her, if not the recipients of said loyalty. Jaheira inhaled sharply, then narrowed her eyes as she stared down Montaron and Xzar. "Very well. We shall abide by your decision... however ill-considered it may be." she ignored the dirty look from Imoen and instead walked past her to stand face to face with Xzar, the mage seemingly oblivious to her presence as he continued to pick at his fingernails. "Pray we do not cross paths a second time. If we do, Imoen shall not save you."

Xzar yawned, then waved brightly to Imoen as he took a bow. "I suppose we should be on our way, such as it is. Monty?"

Imoen returned the wave faintly, watching as the odd pair headed east; a pang of remorse hit her as her first companions on the road disappeared from her life... at least, for the moment. Jaheira watched them suspiciously for a time, then motioned to Imoen, whispering quietly. "Come. We should leave the streets, at least for the moment. That inn will suffice. We will explain everything once we are inside."

The three of them disappeared inside the Nashkel Inn, even as Montaron and Xzar continued their pace out of the town... but not towards the mines. Montaron looked up at the wizard with furious indignation, sputtering madly. "Why the bloody hells didn't you let us kill them! The girl could nae' have stopped us. We might've had to get rid of her sooner, but we cannot afford to have Harpers shadowing our movements-"

"Monty, Monty... you think far too small." Xzar tsked, still examining his fingernails. "You're right... the time to cash in our tender trophy has come much sooner than we planned. The ring I slipped to dear Imoen will keep her whereabouts known to us, and with any luck the Harpers will still be guarding her when the hunters come to collect. They'll do our job for us."

Montaron thought about the plan for a moment longer, then grinned. "Hah! Who says ye don't have a brain on that tattooed head of yours? Only question now becomes which of the two contracts we collect on. The warrior or the wizard?"

"Excuse me... but have the two of you seen a young girl with pink hair? She said she might aid Minsc and Boo in their noble quest."

They were interrupted by a frantic, worried looking ranger, placing one hand on Xzar's shoulder as they prepared to pass the boundaries of the town. Xzar looked at the hand, then the arm, then the man to whom it was attached. He thought for a moment, and then sneered wickedly. "Yes, I have. She's left the town already."

"But... but what about aiding us in our quest to rescue Dynaheir?" Minsc asked, looking more stricken by the moment. "She said she would ask her friends for help too-"

"That be the problem with depending on others, human." Montaron laughed as the two turned their backs on him and continued their way out of Nashkel. "They'll always let you down."

The sound of Montaron's words and Xzar's laughter was a haunting echo around the ranger as he found himself alone once again. He tightened his fist, feeling the berserker rage rise up within him... the little man was right. If nobody would aid him, then Minsc would find Dynaheir himself. He didn't need help to gain the glory of his homeland.

A squeak, a tiny voice from the hamster he carried alongside him gave him a moment's pause, told him to not give up hope just yet. It told him to keep searching, to wait for another. Surely there was someone who would aid them in finding Dynaheir.

For the very first time, Minsc ignored that voice.


	9. Gray Skies Overhead

_"It's a slow fade when you give yourself away  
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray" _

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

The creaky metal hinges protested loudly as Khalid swung the door wide, glancing left and right as he entered first. He was followed by Imoen, though it was more of a push from Jaheira that sent her in, the druid watching their flank with narrowed and unflinching eyes. The half-elf warrior who had entered first moved across the room, opening the closet with hand on his sword, closing it and taking one check out the window of the room. Jaheira looked to him, question in her gaze. "Anything?"

A simple shake of the head gave Jaheira reason to pause for a moment, letting her tense muscles relax, even as Imoen scowled at the quick and ruffled treatment she'd just received at the hands of her old friends. Jaheira noticed her sour expression as Imoen rolled her eyes and tossed out, "Paranoid much?"

The druid inhaled sharply as she leaned in to lock the door behind them. "Paranoia is infinitely preferable to death, wouldn't you say? You're lucky we ran into you when we did."

"Oh yeah." Imoen snorted. "Because Montaron and Xzar were really causing me problems. Who knows what might have happened- they might've saved my life again for all I know!"

The girl's cutting wit was not lost on Khalid, though Jaheira's demeanor suggested that she could definitely have done without. He took her by the arm, smiling gently as he always did- her irritation softened as he sat down, leading her to do the same across from him. He removed his helm, letting the brown locks of hair that streamed from his head flow off, his pointed ears just barely protruding from underneath. "Imoen... y-you know we're only trying to help. There is m-much that we have to tell you b-before you continue on your own. T-the Sword Coast is not as safe as it once was."

"That would be an understatement, truly." Jaheira noted, folding her arms as she leaned up against the opposite side of the room, her slender figure half-shadowed in the candlelight that lit the room. "It is time we told you the full extent of the danger that threatens these lands. Gorion had hoped you would make a difference in the world we face today, but you must know what you are facing."

Imoen listened to them speak, a sense of foreboding building up within the pit of their stomach as she listened to their statements of warning. Still, she tried to brush it off, hoping that they didn't notice the quick swallow of nervousness. "So... what's going on then?"

"You know of the iron crisis; how bandits plunder the caravans of ore, and how even that which gets through is tainted and soon unusable." Jaheira said grimly. "It is much worse than those in power would have you believe. Amn and Baldur's Gate are on the brink of war. Each city believes the bandits are the work of the other; until balance is restored to this land, there will be no safety."

"War? I had no idea..." Imoen found herself at unease at the prospect; she'd heard stories from Gorion and read about the last war between the two major cities; hundreds of thousands dead, every town and city between them torn down and ravaged by the battle.

Jaheira's bronze complexion was glimmering lightly in the shadows as she uncrossed her arms and pushed off the wall to sit beside Imoen on the bed of the room. "We of the Harpers, including Gorion, have been investigating both the iron crisis as well as the banditry. Resolving either of these two problems would go far to easing the tensions in both Amn and Baldur's Gate. To that end, Gorion has been tasked to find the location of the bandit encampment. If he can find it and summon the Flaming Fist, or deal with it on his own- the threat of war might just be averted. The forces guiding these events know this. They will not let him go unchallenged."

Her words took a moment to sink in, but Imoen quickly understood, her eyes widening in fear. "Is he okay?! Where is he?"

Khalid placed one hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her. She whirled to face him, searching his eyes for some affirmation that her father was all right. "We met him at the F-friendly Arm Inn. An assassin showed up and tried to kill him- but don't worry. Your father is much more p-powerful than he would have both his friends and enemies b-believe. He can take care of himself; he said as much when we left him a day ago."

"So... what does all of this have to do with me?" Imoen asked hesitantly, the knowledge that her father was a hunted man giving her pause. She may not always have shown it, but Gorion, Khalid, and Jaheira were the closest people she had to family. She'd have done anything for all three of them, and even though she knew there was nothing that she was capable of doing to protect Gorion that he couldn't do himself, she still felt the urge to find him and stay at his side. At the very least, she'd feel better.

"You must understand, Imoen..." Jaheira paused for a moment, as though choosing her words carefully. "Gorion is well known as a Harper. Whoever is guiding these events knows he is on their trail. They know his goals... and they will do almost anything to stop him, this much we have seen. It is possible... it is possible that they will use you as leverage to make him cease his investigations, should they find you. This is why we had to get you away from those Zhentarim agents as soon as we could. As long as Gorion is hunting for the culprits behind all of this, you will not be safe."

The half-elven warrior who sat beside Imoen noticed the girl's hand begin to tremble slightly, and he took hold of it firmly, looking into her newly frightened eyes. "Don't worry. We don't even know if they're aware of your existence... we're just trying to cover all the opportunities that our enemies m-might take. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Sure. Just... not every day you find out there're assassins out for your head, y'know?" Imoen smiled weakly, visibly trying to calm herself. "What happens now?"

Jaheira stood again and walked to the window, peering outside at the streets of Nashkel and the farmers and peasants who were returning to their homes in the fading sunlight of the evening. With any luck, and she couldn't believe she was thinking this, the assassins would continue to hunt Gorion, leaving Imoen unchallenged and undiscovered. Khalid had done his best to calm her, but there was little chance that Imoen's identity was unknown. Their opponents were too thorough, too well organized. Hopefully she would remain a target of opportunity, an option only to be targeted should they discover her by chance.

"Jaheira?"

Imoen's voice took her from her thoughts as Jaheira turned back to Imoen, the girl still looking at her expectantly. She forced a smile, brushing a stray braid of hair behind her delicately pointed ear. "Just considering our options, that's all. Trying to decide how best to keep you from harm's way. If you were wondering, traveling with us is out of the question. While Gorion searches for the bandit's encampment, Khalid and I will be investigating the two major sources of iron in the region. The Cloakwood and Nashkel mines have ceased reporting their activities by the methods we can intercept. If Cloakwood does not produce results, we'll return to investigate Nashkel."

"Too dangerous for me to be taggin along, right?" Imoen nodded with a sigh, fully expecting the reasoning. "I get it. Still, I'd much rather travel with someone else, y'know? The road's a bit rough on your own. Er... why aren'tcha just checking out the Nashkel mines now? You are here, after all."

"The presence of the F-flaming Fist is strong here; Cloakwood is a bastion of the Iron Throne, a powerful cartel of iron suppliers that includes Cloakwood and Nashkel. The Iron Throne has to be involved in this matter; they have too much leverage not to." Khalid answered quietly, frowning as Imoen's face lit up with a grin that he'd seen far too many times when visiting her as a child; it usually happened right after she came up with an idea that would horrify every adult who found about.

His wife had not let it go unnoticed; she guessed it just as he did. "No." Jaheira growled with as much vehemence in her tone as she could muster. "This is not a game, Imoen. People are dying, and-"

"And the best way to stop it is for this whole thing to end, right?" Imoen cut her off, fingering the dagger at her belt. "I mean, you said it yourself that the Nashkel mines are probably fine, right? But if I take a closer look, it'll save you time, and it'll keep me out of trouble for a while. No bandits running around inside mineshafts, right?"

"No, just a host of more trouble than you could possibly imagine." Jaheira narrowed her eyes, taking Imoen by the shoulders and forcing her to look the druid in the eye. "We told you that these men and women are possibly aware of your presence; if you start prying into their business, you'll go from a minor annoyance to the top of their list. These men and women are not to be trifled with."

"Then I'll be careful." Imoen retorted defiantly, gesturing to herself as she spoke. "I am a thief, after all. It's not like I'm going to be running in with a barbarian on one side and a wizard on the other, right? I'll be sneaky- they'll never know I'm there. In and out, see what I can see, get out and tell you guys what I found. See?"

Jaheira cursed, wincing as she looked at Khalid for some semblance of support. He bit his lip, looking at Imoen and her rapidly growing excitement... excitement and determination. She was looking at this as more than a chance for a little action- it was her way of aiding Gorion, too. And Jaheira and himself, if he wasn't mistaken. The Zhents had been right about one thing- her loyalty ran deep. "Imoen... I don't know about this-"

"Then how about I make it easy for ya both, kay?" she grinned. "Either you take me with you to Cloakwood, or once you leave I'll just go ahead and investigate the Nashkel mines without your permission. Looks to me like yer getting my help whether you like it or not. I'm not just going to sit around and hide, after all."

Khalid shut his mouth, considering her words... and realizing her point. It wasn't as if they could really do anything to stop her, short of doing what she said and bringing her along with them, a move that was out of the question. Besides, Cloakwood would be infinitely more dangerous than Nashkel. The lesser of two evils, perhaps. He glanced at Jaheira, nodding with a sigh.

Jaheira rolled her eyes again, shaking her head. "By the Horns of Silvanus, child, you're as stubborn as Gorion. He will not be pleased when he hears of this, you know."

"That's why he won't have to." Imoen grinned, hopping up from the bed with a new spring in her step and purpose in her mind. "So I go in, snoop around and report back what I find about the iron being tainted and all. You two will be off at Cloakwood- where will I meet up with you guys when I'm done?"

The prospects of a safe haven for them all ran through Jaheira's mind; three days prior she would have said the Friendly Arm Inn without a second thought. After their encounter with the assassin... she was uncertain. It had made one thing clear to her; there was no safety to be had in the Sword Coast. Not until this crisis was resolved. Would their foes be watching the fortress inn, expecting them to continue relying on it for their rest? She hesitated before reacting to Imoen's question, Khalid seeing her eyes and guessing the reason for her pause. "The Friendly Arm inn is not the b-bastion it once was... but it is still the closest thing to a f-fortress that we will be able to find." he pointed out, talking equally to Jaheira and Imoen. "I-I don't know if there will be a safer alternative. Jaheira?"

Jaheira let a slight smile creep onto her face as she nodded in agreement. Khalid would always be the one to ease her fears, even if she never admitted it to anyone but herself. Just another reason she found herself so content in his arms and company. "Of course. It will take time for us to reach Cloakwood and complete our own investigation, so do not hurry or rush yourself, Imoen. Take time to be careful and put your safety above all else. We will meet in a fortnight- I suggest you use the time to resupply yourself for this."

"And try to find a companion to travel with." Khalid advised, standing from the bed to look down at Imoen who was listening with an unflappable grin on her face. "It is far too d-dangerous to travel alone t-these days. Just... choose wisely."

The connotation was not lost on the girl as she thought of her Montaron and Xzar; despite the disapproval from Khalid and Jaheira, she couldn't help but feel some empathy toward the odd pair. She glanced down to her hand, her eyes lighting up as she noticed the ring Xzar had given her before departing. Whatever purpose it had been meant to serve in her 'training' was most likely gone, but she decided to keep it as a reminder of the two, if nothing else. Not that she would tell her adopted aunt and uncle that, of course. She looked up and nodded with a smile. "Of course! It's me, y'know? Careful's my middle name."

An arched eyebrow from both druid and warrior was enough to make Imoen shrug, her grin widening. "Or something like that."

X X X X X X

Downstairs, the door to the Nashkel Inn swung wide, letting a chill pass through from the sunset hours. The visitor was hooded and cloaked, his robes underneath a deep purple as they hung just low enough to obscure his boots from travel-worn boots from touching the ground. His shoulder length brown hair was wet with the slight drizzle that had accompanied the falling of the sun- a fitting addition to the dreary nature of his already horror-plagued quest.

He sighed and uncloaked himself, adjusting the circlet that rested around his head. Quite frankly, he was surprised it hadn't fallen off or been broken in one of the numerous battles he'd fought on his way to this far-flung town. Still, he'd made it in one piece, and that was enough to give him the tiniest bit of hope that his actions weren't in vain. He trudged over to the bar, blinking as a drop of water from his hair ran into his eyes. He ran one hand through his hair and brushed his locks back, then met the barman's friendly smile with a half-grimace. "Hello. Turmish wine, if you have it."

"Aye... looks like you got in just before the storm. One's a comin, y'know?" the barman nodded, using his perpetually dirty cloth that was tucked into his apron to wipe the counter before him as one of the serving girls poured his drink and passed it to the elf. "Looking for a place to stay tonight?"

"If you have anything available... though I wouldn't be surprised to find that you've no room." the dour man sighed, glancing behind him as he took the proffered glass, staring into it with an expression of what might have been considered apathy, if not for the dogged determination one could see glinting within his dark eyes. "If not, I suppose this is a fine a place as any to remain for the night."

The barman did not respond right away- the elf shrugged as he sipped his wine, only frowning in confusion as he looked up to see the barman having backed away from him, looking frightened as he gazed in his direction. The elf frowned- he felt a firm hand grip his shoulder, spinning him around to face two men, each one clad in chainmail over leather, swords and daggers at their hips. The one who had grabbed him was the taller, and had a nasty scar running the full length of his face. "What've we here? An elf, eh? You look like you might be the one me and my friend've been waiting for. Where're you from, hmm?"

The elf sighed despondently, glancing at his spilled drink with regret. "Of course. I should not have expected anything less. You are here to kill me, yes?"

"Now that depends." the shorter of the two picked his teeth with a dagger, nodding to the barman behind their captive. "S'long as he don't interfere, nor the rest of these folks, and you go ahead and do what we say- who knows, you might just keep your head, eh?"

"I doubt it." the elven man exhaled, letting his eyes slowly drift to the man who was still holding him by the shoulder. "I think I'd rather take my chances, as poor as they might be."

His hand was a blur, moving to slap his oppressor's hand from his shoulder, then quietly intoning a simple incantation as a glowing yellow light flashed from his hand, sweeping over and through the man as his Hold Person took effect. The man became little more than a statue as he froze in place, evoking a curse from his shorter partner as the man drew a sword, lunging out to slash the wizard before he could do the same to him.

The attack was hasty, and had it been planned a bit further it might've worked; as it was, the elf ducked out of the way and pushed the frozen assassin into his partner, sending both of them crashing over the bar and filling the room with the sound of shattering glass and wood as the barman ran for his life. The wizard backed away as the short man who was still able to move scrambled to his feet, growling under his breath as he began stalking around the bar towards his prey. "I'm going to gut you where you stand, elf!"

"I wouldn't doubt it." the wizard replied grimly, before raising both hands and letting the magics he wielded flow through him; his opponent rushed again, moving to disrupt his spell- too little too late. A blue sheen covered the enchanter, repelling the man's blade as it narrowly veered off course before hitting him. The elf threw back his brown robes, revealing his deep purple garments- more specifically, the glowing blue sword that rested at his side. He plucked it from its sheath with long practiced skill, then leveled it as he waited for his opponent to attack again.

It wasn't a long wait- the man came with a backhand sweep that was designed to cut him open from hip to shoulder; his protective magics, combined with a quick twist of his body sent the attack off course once again, even as he moved in with a quickness unexpected from the quiet, unassuming enchanter- the rune-covered Moonblade cut deep and true, piercing the chainmail and leather before embedding itself in his attacker's chest. The man gagged once with the impact, before the intrusion was removed, sending him tumbling to the ground as he overturned a nearby table in his fall.

The enchanter mouthed a quick apology to the former residents of said table, then wiped the blood off of his sword as he returned to the man whom he had frozen earlier in the short yet fierce battle. He bent over to the man, looking into his eyes- he placed one hand on the assassin's forehead, then whispered the words to another spell. When he had finished, the man blinked once, his imprisonment worn off and gone. He scrambled to his feet, blinking as he fixed his gaze on the elf. "I... why was I trying to kill you? Just a moment ago I knew, but..."

"It's not important." the elf waved it off. "Still, since we're such good friends, perhaps you'd be willing to remove that corpse for the barkeep here. As a favor for me, you understand. You did nearly wreck his bar, after all."

"Er... yeah. Sure." the man nodded, giving the elf a quick pat on the back as he moved to take hold of his dead partner, dragging him out of the bar into the darkness of the growing darkness. The elf watched as he disappeared, then turned back to the barman who was just returning to his post with hesitation. "I apologize for the trouble- it seems to follow me wherever I go. Quite frankly, I'm surprised more people weren't hurt..."

Across the room, Khalid and Jaheira piled down the stairway, both with weapons at the ready after hearing the commotion downstairs. Imoen was close behind them, though they would have preferred she stay behind. She caught a glimpse of the brown-haired elf as he handed the barkeep enough gold for the damages as well as a room and board; he spoke in low tones, but her hearing was just keen enough to make out what he was saying.

"When that man returns, tell him I've left and will meet him in... oh, Icewind Dale. He'll believe you, and should be well on his way there before the enchantment wears off." the purple-robed wizard sighed as he moved, already turning towards the stairway where Khalid, Imoen, and Jaheira now watched with suspicion, putting their weapons away as they watched the elven enchanter pass them up the stairs. "I should be moving on before the morn as well- the Nashkel mines are undoubtedly crawling with similar foes. Best not to keep them waiting."

"As you wish, er... what was your name, sir?"

The elf didn't bother to turn as he tossed his moniker back down the stairs, not even stopping to glance at the three he had passed at the bottom of the stairwell. "Xan. Not that it will matter. Life is so hollow."


	10. The Hunt Begins

_"Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid  
When you give yourself away"_

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

"Are you sure of this, Imoen? If you desire, we can find safe lodgings for you until a time when we can return... you do not have to do this."

Imoen glanced up at Jaheira, tossing her a smile as she laced up her hiking boots, kneeling beside the door of the room they had stayed in for most of the night. The sun had yet to rise, but was due within the hour. If Imoen was going to get the jump on this 'Xan', follow him to the mines and possibly- possibly- join him in his investigation, she'd need to be up before the elven stick-in-the-mud. Or at least, that was the overriding impression she'd gotten of the man last night.

"I-it's no use, Jaheira. I think s-she's quite set on this particular course." Khalid looked down at her with a flicker of pride in his still-worried features. "You w-will be careful, won't you? Nothing too dangerous. If y-you don't think you can handle something-"

"Then don't keep going, I know." Imoen rolled her eyes playfully as she stood up straight, grabbing her pack and shouldering it with ease. She let her ever-present grin fade for a moment, facing her two friends with earnest seriousness on her features. "I understand what I'm getting into. I know it's dangerous. But what else am I going to do? Hide at some inn for the next few months? If I'd wanted to do that, I'd have stayed in Candlekeep and kept tormenting Puffguts."

The half-elven couple exchanged a glance, then turned back to Imoen with nods of affirmation. "Then there's not much left for us to say. You had best get moving, child- and take care when you approach this elf. You still know very little about him. He could be dangerous."

Imoen didn't respond with words; a simple, final smile and she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Khalid glanced at Jaheira and took her by the hand, doing his best to appear confident and comforting. "She will be fine. G-gorion raised her well."

"I know..." Jaheira paused as she watched the closed door, her own mouth suddenly dry as she tried to find the proper words. "I am worried, though. Perhaps I am simply being over-protective... but I feel-"

Jaheira paused, and Khalid met her eyes, frowning at her sudden reluctance... her fear. "What is it?"

"I feel we shall not see her again." the druid finished, uncomfortable silence filling the room between them. They stood together, taking strength from one another as they tried their best to trust in the girl they knew so well, and yet not at all. Finally, Khalid spoke.

"W-we should get moving. It will be a long road to Cloakwood, and I doubt they will be p-pleased to see Harpers on their doorstep."

Jaheira nodded, letting Khalid's voice fill her with hope once more. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then gathered her equipment and prepared to move.

X X X X X X

Three days. Three days since he had left the Nashkel Inn, trying to make his way to the Mines and investigate the turmoil there. Most of the time, the journey could have been completed in a full day's hike. Not, however, if the roads were turned to mud and slogging through the trails took three times as long as they should have. It was the fourth day... and it was pouring just as heavily as ever. Of course it was still raining. It wasn't as though he was expecting anything less. The elven enchanter tugged his purple cloak higher over his head, hoping to spare himself from being completely soaked as he walked the muddy road that led south of Nashkel. Xan felt a slight shiver pass through his body as he plodded ever onward, his path set in stone before him, even if it was a doomed effort to begin with. He had argued as much when the Council had sent him, but his status and experience made him the most logical choice to investigate the turmoil in the Sword Coast.

The enchanter felt his boot slurp as it hit a particularly deep section of mud in the road, coming just above where the boot would have protected his foot. He grimaced, pulling up until his foot came out, the cold mud seeping down into his boot. He sighed, shaking his head, then kept on moving, trying to ignore the constant squishing sounds that occurred every time he took a step with his right foot. Still, things weren't all bad... he had made progress, nonetheless. Passing through the open plains and farmland had been largely uneventful, as even the banditry that ran rampant in the region was ill suited to waiting around in open terrain through the torrential conditions for a few coppers. He'd be coming to the forests that edged the canyons that led into the mines soon... he could see the beginnings of the treeline a few hundred yards up the road.

He sighed, letting a hint of a smile cross his face. Firewood- drenched firewood, really... the promise of shelter from the elements- or bandits in waiting, ready to kill him and steal his valuables at first chance. The smile that had crossed his face replaced itself with a grimace as he slogged onward. The odds were fairly even, he thought to himself, fingering the hilt of his Moonblade as he continued his much-squishier trek. Still, it wasn't just the general depression of life that was getting to him. Ever since leaving the Nashkel Inn, three days ago, he'd felt as though he was being... watched. Followed. His elven eyesight gave him an advantage over any trackers or assassins, but the weather conditions didn't help his case any. Each night he made a fire and watched for any sign of someone following him, but the weather simply made it too difficult.

He supposed it could have been the living half of the pair that had assaulted him at the inn, but his spellcraft should've made certain that he would no longer be a problem. Xan sighed, shaking his head underneath his cloak. Perhaps he was simply being paranoid. That's what the other Greycloak clan members all told him when he complained of their impending doom. Granted, the fact that he was usually right helped his case. That was why he knew he wasn't being paranoid. Someone was following him. Probably trying to kill him. They'd probably succeed, too. Xan murmured the words to a spell, feeling the power of a Contingency surge through him, just as he'd done for the past few days, renewing it whenever its power would wane over time. When his mystery follower attacked... he'd be ready. Or not. The chances of him dying were pretty good, after all.

A few dozen yards behind the water-logged elf, a lithe, nimble shadow jumped from cover to cover, keeping her movements and body as hidden as possible. Imoen poked the top of her head over the pack of barrels that were nestled in the outer edge of one last farmer's land. The elf hadn't shown any signs of noticing her yet... not that the weather made it easy for her to see him either. Still, things had gone according to plan thus far. Good. A drop of water slid into her eye- Imoen blinked madly, using her hands to try and rub it out. Quite frankly, she was surprised that he hadn't spotted her yet. It was hard enough being sneaky in perfect conditions, especially when the target was someone with improved hearing, vision, and a few lifetimes worth of experience.

Still, her plan was a good one. Or at least, she thought it was. Wait for the elf to run into trouble, then come out of nowhere to save his life. He'd be grateful for the help, and have no choice but to accept her company when investigating the mines. Granted, the plan did make a few assumptions... like the fact that he would be attacked at some point, and that he'd need help when being attacked, or the fact that he wouldn't think her an enemy upon revealing herself and attack. Still, those were simply... details. The fact it hadn't happened for three days was probably due to the inclement weather, that's all. The basic idea was still sound. And if worse came to worse, she could handle herself. How hard could it be to sneak into a dark, underground set of tunnels? What was she going to find down there, angry miners?

A crack of thunder shocked her into attention again, even as the dulled flash that the lightning had brought moments ago faded from view. She focused her attention on this 'Xan' again, watching him as he stopped for a moment, pausing as though to shake off his garb, hoping to find some relief from the torrential downpour they were both engulfed in. Not that it would do him much good. No doubt he was just as soaked as she right now... Imoen tucked the wet strands of her pink hair behind her ear, blinking drops of rain from her eye as she tried to keep the elf from growing too far away. He was heading for the treeline that lined the final roads to the Nashkel mines... or so she assumed. In retrospect, she might've done a bit more research upon the whereabouts of these mines. Xzar and Montaron had never really told her their location, and she hadn't thought to ask Khalid and Jaheira. Traveling alone, she decided as she vaulted to another piece of cover, her dark clothes concealing her well against the bales of rain-drenched hay and broken-down carts... was just not her thing.

Xan suppressed another shiver as he tightened his cloak, feeling the water-logged wool scratch against his skin, causing an itch he didn't bother to scratch. Not that he would have had the time. The treeline was just a bit further... and with a rustling of leaves and a flurry of branches, Xan smiled with resignation. Of course. Two half-ogres stepped out of the darkness, blunt, bloodied clubs raised high. One of them yelled something unintelligible, though the other was much more direct. He covered the distance between the two of them in three steps, swinging his weapon down with a force that would shatter his skull into thousands of pieces.

The club hit, knocking Xan to the ground so hard that his body bounced as it impacted. The half-ogre who had struck him snarled in satisfaction, but a frown crossed its features as it noticed the distinct lack of blood and bone that should have littered the ground around the dead elf. Of course, the main flaw in the whole scheme was that the elf was not, in fact, dead. Dazed and trying to keep the world from spinning out of control from the sheer impact of being thrown down so hard, Xan struggled to try and push himself back to his feet, to regain his footing, secure in the Stoneskin spell that had activated the moment his life had put in absolute danger. Still, he only two skins left- perhaps it would be enough to kill one of the two monsters, but both would be pushing his luck.

Xan's eyes widened as he saw the club rise again, coming down to strike him a second time- he rolled left, only for the club of the second half-ogre to thud into the ground right beside him, bringing his dodge to an abrupt halt. His hand went for the Moonblade at his belt as he lay there, but the combination of his fear added to the slick palms and slick grip of the weapon made his hand slide right off the sword, leaving it half-sheathed as the clubs went up a second time.

The sound of a bee zipping its way through the area passed through Xan's hearing... it was a sound he recognized quite easily. An arrow being released from its bow, usually with his name on the tip. As the half-ogre began his downswing, the arrow struck its arm, jolting it enough that it released its grip on the club. The large wooden cudgel slammed into the ground beside Xan's head, eliciting a sigh of relief from the elf. The second half-ogre, however, did not suffer any such impediment and took full opportunity to slam his weapon into Xan a second time, shaking the ground.

Imoen winced as she watched the other monster land another blow. She'd seen the flash of magic that had saved the elf's life at the first hit, and she was praying it would happen again. She couldn't see well enough to know exactly what was happening, but at least she'd managed to hit one of them. The low lighting combined with the rainy conditions was making accuracy something of a problem... if she could just get a bit closer, she'd have a chance of-

Another roar echoed over the rain's incessant din, and in a flash of lightning, Imoen got a frightening glimpse of the half-ogre she'd struck charging towards her, its bloodshot eyes wide and filled with pain and fury. She stumbled backward in a panic at the sudden attack, though her training kept her from turning tail completely. Another arrow came to her bow in seconds, Imoen releasing a bit quicker than she would have liked. Still, it did the intended job, striking the stomach of the massive humanoid. It stumbled forward with the impact but continued forward, if slower than before. Imoen barely though of Xan as she went for another arrow, continuing to backpedal to give herself time to bring down the monster in front of her. She certainly hoped he was faring better than her... and that he'd be grateful enough for all of this mess.

X X X X X X

The cobblestone paths of the city of Baldur's Gate provided small but fluid paths for the rain flowing from the skies to sluice through, trickling like miniature rivers through the full depths of the city. Given enough imagination, one could see it as a washing, a cleansing of the city that carried the grime and filth away. That, of course, was a lie. Pure and simple. The corruption and the disease that plagued the city was far deeper than any torrent could flush out. Evil lurked in the Gate, both above and below ground. Thieves around every corner... cutthroats in each corner. Not even the Flaming Fist could keep the streets safe at all hours of the day. Far too many shady deals, too many under-the-table payments that kept eyes turned the other way. Far too many favors being dealt to keep powerful men happy. Far too many contracts and jobs of any kind that needed to be done for the murderers turned mercenaries to be caught. Mercenaries like the one who followed the contact for his prospective new employer. An employer who, if the contract information proved true, would pay quite handsomely for the information he possessed.

_The dirt alleys and paths that led into the Graveyards of Athkatla were dirty, true, but quickly turned into polished stone and fine brick-laid pathways that spread out amongst the dead places. Marble tombstones and unclean mausoleums stretched as far as the eye could see, each one covered in all manner of vines, moss, and other signs of age and longevity. So beautiful, the carvings and the statues and the monuments here in the Graveyards... yet filled with rotting flesh and stinking corpses. Whitewashed tombs, only to be filled with dead men's bones. Much like Athkatla, itself. The City of Coin, the gem of Amn. And yet, so easily infiltrated. So quickly corrupted. The power hungry Cowled Wizards with their magic 'regulations'. The Shadow Thieves, with their monopoly of the city's trade and illegal activities. Money talked far too easily in this place for any sort of justice to be dispensed without bias... the only place that might be without corruption was the Order of the Radiant Heart... and they were never meant to police a city. And so, the man who followed his contact went unnoticed by any, the knights, the guards, the clerics... completely unnoticed as he followed into the graves, into the catacombs below._

The stairway seemed to stretch forever, a chore for the diminutive halfling as he followed the hooded man up the numerous flights and floors. The halfling snarled up at the man before him, seemingly unaffected by the long climb. "Aye! Yer boss might've done us both a favor and met someplace a bit lower to the ground! I do enough hiking back and forth 'cross hill and vale without having to scale the whole of this overgrown tower!"

The shadowed man before him glanced back and quirked a smile, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked over the halfling. "I told you the price that my master is willing to pay for the information you claim to possess, halfling. Surely a small climb isn't too much for you to bear, is it? Aside from all this, my master has enemies. Spies, assassins... I'm sure you understand. He would not want anything... unfortunate, to happen to you before you could relay this information."

"Aye, I'm sure he's all heart." the halfling scowled, only taking a hint of satisfaction at the climb coming to an end as the man before him came to a platform with an adjoining door. He held it open for Montaron who tossed behind him as he stepped through, "Ye tell your boss that Montaron can take care of himself, and anyone who says or thinks otherwise will find out real quick just who he's dealing with!"

_"Xzar... you said your name was? You seem quite at ease, here."_

_"Why yes I am. How good of you to notice." the wizard grinned, glancing back and forth at the bones and coffins that lined the catacomb walls. His escort was carrying a simple candelabra, illuminating their way through the cobweb and dust filled halls. "I'm something of a... connoisseur, of the dead. My specialty, you could say."_

_"Indeed... my mistress might have a use for you, beyond this particular excursion. Even if she does not, I myself find you quite... appetizing." the sultry voice beneath the cloak made Xzar's tattooed features rise with curiosity, though whether it was at the flirtatious tone or the prospect of another job, one could not quite tell. As unpredictable as he was, he was quick to pick up opportunities for gain. _

_Xzar ran one hand through his tousled brown hair, brushed out the cobwebs that had gotten snagged there from their journey so far, then replied to his escort nonchalantly. "You have me at something of a disadvantage, my pale companion. I always make it a habit to get to know those who find me suitable for a meal. Your name would be..."_

_The sound of groaning tombstones shifting and grinding from their resting places interrupted his query, and Xzar watched with curiosity as a passageway opened, leading downward, light flickering at the base of the newly opened staircase to reveal a final sanctum. The pale woman, raven-haired with blood-red lips, gestured for him to take the lead, licking her lips as he passed and descended. He glanced behind him and grinned as he looked at her, tossing back, "Your name, miss? I still didn't catch it-"_

_"Valen. Her name is Valen, though it matters little to you." a powerful voice demanded his attention from across the room; he turned back to the torch lit chamber, where a stone-carved throne sat at the end. On it was a leather clad woman, draped over it like a giant cat. Her skin was pale as the dead, her eyes flashing darkly in the torchlight. She slunk off the seat and stalked to Xzar, somehow managing to tower over him despite his height advantage. "I am Bodhi, and I have been told you had information that would prove useful. For your sake, you had better not disappoint me."_

"Aye... Tamoko, it was? I've got the information your contracts 'ave all been after." Montaron nodded, picking at his teeth with a dagger as he stood before the woman who had met him in the hall that the stairway had led from. He finished, examined his reflection in the dagger, grimaced as he saw a hint of rust and decay beginning to eat at the edge, then tossed it behind him with a snarl of disgust. "Blasted iron, eatin all my daggers and knives? How's a thief supposed to trust his blades if they keep falling apart in his hand, eh?"

"How indeed." the woman fixed Montaron in her eyes, her features stone cold and serious. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of her eyes, then nodded with a laugh.

"I see how it be, lass. If ye want to play it all business, that's fine by me. I'm in this for the money an' nothing else, after all. Why don't ye go ahead and call down your boss and we'll get this here negotiation over with then, eh?"

"I'm afraid that's not quite possible." Tamoko shook her head, the plate mail she wore shifting with the motion. Despite himself, the halfling noted the ease and dexterity with which she moved. She was fluid, dexterous. A fantastic warrior, that much was certain. Still, no reason for him to simply back off when he held the cards.

"Not going to happen, lass." Montaron chuckled, pretending he didn't see the flashing anger that swept through her brown eyes. "Y'see, there's a bit of a problem. The amount you posted... one thousand pieces? I'll be needing a mite more than that. Perhaps two thousand."

Tamoko stepped forward, and to Montaron's credit, he didn't flinch in the slightest. "You are quite the bold one, halfling, to make demands of us when death lies so close. Make no mistake... death awaits you here, should you press beyond your means."

"Oh, I've a full account of my means. And I've got more than the information you called for. A bit of a hasty negotiation piece that'll make you rethink your position, I think." Montaron sneered.

_"And what, precisely, does that mean, necromancer?" Bodhi hissed, circling Xzar as the wizard shrugged, his grin fixed on his face. "I could simply bend you to my will, you know. The powers I possess would make you tell me every secret hidden in that empty head of yours..."_

_"Indeed... indeed you could!" Xzar nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. "But by then, you'd be too late. To claim your prize, anyway. You needed a god-spawn alive, am I right? I know I'm right. There is... how should I say... another bounty. For god-spawn such as the one I'm offering to you. Another sum of coin upon the head of those delicious little Bhaal-children- but this contract requires them to be most assuredly... deceased, shall we say?"_

_"What?!" Bodhi hissed, leaning in to Xzar with surprise and fury in her eyes. "Just what kind of game are you trying to play, little man?"_

_"No game at all." Xzar chuckled, rolling his eyes with glee. "Another of my... associates, felt that it would be easier to collect that bounty. I, of course, felt otherwise. Capturing the child alive would be so much easier, I argued. We agreed to go our separate ways, and see which of us was right. Surely you understand my point, hmm? If you feel that my price is too high... well, I can accept that. I will still even lead you to her. But I cannot promise you that she will be among the living when we arrive."_

"Unacceptable." Tamoko spat, her fist clenching as she stared down the halfling. "There can be no doubt that the Bhaalspawn dies. If you can get us there before the other hunter, then you shall have your desired payment. Semaj! Bring Montaron downstairs, pay the halfling his money, and prepare to depart. We shall depart immediately. There can be no chance of failure."

Montaron smiled a toothy grin as the wizard nodded to Tamoko and led them both downstairs, leaving Tamoko alone in the hall of the Iron Throne tower. She waited for a moment, then closed her eyes and smiled, knowing who was in the room with her. She turned, looking up into the face of the man so many people feared. She met his eyes, her smile fading for a moment as his eyes glowed yellow, then faded to their natural dark brown. "You were doing it again."

"I am sorry, my love... but this news cannot be ignored." Despite towering over her frame by almost two feet, the warrior somehow managed to be gentle as he took her in his arms, smiling with affection. "For every one of my siblings that dies, I grow closer to my... and your destiny. The man you see before you now... this man that you hold is but a shell, a mere shadow of what is to come. Soon, my love. Soon I shall be a god, and you will be my goddess. So soon."

"I hope you are right." she offered quietly, allowing him to brush the raven hair from her face and kiss her cheek, before he gathered himself again, his armored form casting a shadow over her as he left the room, only pausing once to turn and reply, "The Bhaalspawn must die. Find out who else is hunting the god-children, and why. Other Children seeking the Throne, meddlers looking to protect them... it matters not. Once you know who they are and what they seek... kill them as well. We cannot allow interference at this stage."

_"Interesting. I had not yet heard the rumors of a bounty on the head of the god-children. For their deaths, no less. This is... troublesome. I shall have to acquire a new servant, one whose movements can go unnoticed in the dens of filth that this city offers. A thief among thieves, perhaps. Still, a matter for another time." the shadowed man sat with his fingers clasped before him, glaring heavily at the floor across the room as Bodhi stood at his side, awaiting his words. "Do what you have promised. We cannot take any chances... the longer we wait, the stronger the spawn shall grow, and the more shall die at one another's hands. We must find two while they are yet weak enough to be controlled."_

_"What of your rituals? The power you will need to perform the spells... we do not have the equipment or the resources. We might not have it for months. Years." Bodhi pointed out, glaring back toward the room where Xzar counted his payment before they departed. _

_"We will be... patient. It is a skill that has served us well thus far, yes sister?" the dark wizard arched one eyebrow as he looked to the pale-skinned Nosferatu he called family. "Let the mageling lead you to the Bhaalspawn, then bring her back to me. She must not be killed."_

_Bodhi flashed a pout for a brief second, but her eyes lit with twisted glee as she slunk around his throne of sorts. "I notice, dear brother, you said nothing more about the physical... condition, that the spawn must be in."_

_He eyed her, his mouth twitching just noticeably in a smirk. One of the few emotions he still showed, these days. But all of that would change. Starting now. Their first step to restoration. "Find out who is hunting the Bhaalspawn. They must not be allowed to continue. Not yet. Make certain that they understand... the Children of Bhaal are not to be hunted to extinction. Not yet, anyway."_

_Bodhi's smile grew ever wider._

X X X X X X

The half-ogre roared with pain and fury... but the sound was rapidly fading, replaced by the constant thrum of the rain as it clawed at the arrow in its neck feebly, then slumped to the ground, collapsing face-first into a pool of mud and blood. Imoen was panting in fear and exertion, only a few feet from the beast when one of her final arrows had ended the creature's pursuit of her. "There... that wasn't... wasn't so hard. Easy..."

A flash and a crackle of thunder boomed from further on down the road, and Imoen lurched upward, eyes wide as she squinted through the rain to see shadowy figures stumbling back and forth in the downpour. Xan... she'd nearly forgotten about him! She was supposed to protect him, and letting the other half-ogre grind his bones to make bread or some other foolish thing was less than beneficial for her plan's integrity. She ran as fast as she dared, nearly tripping and falling into the mud several times before the wildly flailing figures became clear. A bulge of red and brown on the grown finally became the corpse of the second half-ogre, covered in numerous stab wounds. Standing over it, holding himself around the stomach and chest was a bloodied, bruised elf. His Moonblade hung in one hand, blood and gore hanging and dripping from the blade as the rain washed it clean.

Xan stared dumbly at the corpse for a few seconds, suddenly looking up as his ears picked up the sounds of her approach. He squinted into the dark, raising his sword as Imoen finally came into view. She saw the weapon and raised both arms, doing her best to appear non-threatening. He called out, trying to be heard over the thunder all around. "My shadow for the past few days, I see. Who are you and what grudge do you have with me?"

Imoen paused, trying to remember the fancy speech she'd been rehearsing in her mind for this moment. Granted, she hadn't counted on being completely soaked, cold, out of breath, and standing over the rotting corpse of a half-ogre. Xan didn't move, remaining on guard as he waited what seemed like an eternity for her to speak... finally, she smiled sheepishly and offered up, "Um... hi. I'm Imoen. Thought you could... uh... well, use some help. See, I kinda overheard you talking about going to the Nashkel mines back in the inn, right, and since I was going to investigate them myself, I thought we could... um, you know, I could go with you. Sort of. But since we didn't know each other, I thought I'd help you out first, y'know, just to prove I'm not useless or nothing like that. Um... yeah. Er- whaddya think? Need a good rogue at your side?"

Xan looked up at the sky, the same mantra he repeated daily running through his head once again.

_I'm doomed. Absolutely, positively, without doubt. Doomed. _

He looked back down at Imoen, smiled weakly, then shrugged. "Perhaps. Surely you cannot bring any more trouble to my life than I have been subject to already."


	11. Betrayal

_"People never crumble in a day"_

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

The sound of the rain and the wind rattling against windowpanes and walls of the houses in town echoed through the back alleys and the streets, creating a raucous clamor; like the clattering of undead bones or the wail of a banshee, it was enough to chill those who listened to its unpleasant tones. The rains came faster and fiercer these days, storm clouds thundering overhead both day and night... fitting, for as the threat of war grew ever nearer, hope dwindled and left only darkness in its wake.

Still, the threat of torrential downpour was not enough to drive everyone into their homes; those whose business was less than legal took the opportunity to ply their trade with ease, meeting openly if they thought they could get away with it. The presence of the Flaming Fist in Beregost was minimal, their presence required in Nashkel and Baldur's Gate, for the most part. Still, for the man who waited patiently in the back alleys of the town, cloaked and hooded in hopes of keeping himself safe from the whipping winds, it was not the Flaming Fist that worried him. Not them at all.

The sound of a rock clattering down the cobblestone paths made him look up with narrowed eyes, hoping to see the figure of his contact coming to meet him, hopefully so he could get out of the rain and find a warm place to dry off. He was getting far too old for this kind of work. Gorion sighed, noting that nobody was forthcoming, then tugged on his hood a bit further and tried to duck underneath the overhang of one of the roofs that barely provided shelter in that alleyway. He'd been searching for the bandit encampment for weeks, and each lead had turned up as little information as the last. Still, his meeting with Khalid and Jaheira and the assassin that had struck then only reinforced his suspicions... he was being observed, and somebody didn't like the questions he was asking. Ruffling feathers... a good way to tell when one was on the right track. Also, of course, a good way to get oneself killed. No... he couldn't afford to take such risks with himself. Not while she was still in danger.

Heh... Gorion almost laughed at the thought. Rather, he would have, if the situation hadn't been so dire. Here he was, one of the best Harpers that the organization had to offer, on the trail of the greatest threat to the stability of the Sword Coast. The entire balance of the region could rest upon his shoulders and how he chose to negotiate, what he was able to uncover... and he was basing his decisions on the possible danger he might cause to Imoen. Inconceivable. Unprofessional. And yet, there was no other choice, in his mind. He could not, in good conscience, do anything that might jeopardize her safety. She meant far too much to him... and yet, she was out of his reach, for now. There was little he could do to protect her, such as it was, only keep his enemies' attention focused on himself and away from her. With any luck, they might not even know she existed... but probably not.

Another sound- this time, Gorion looked up to peer into the darkness and his vigilance was rewarded. A figure hustled down the alley, headed straight for his position. Gorion had made certain that the meeting spot between his informant and himself was far enough out of the way that nobody would stumble upon them by accident. Nobody came this far into the back alleys on a night like tonight if they didn't have purposeful business with somebody. With any luck, the man Gorion was working with would have more information about the bandit encampment. He'd been good for info the last two times Gorion had asked... he could only hope the man's word would hold up a third time.

As he drew ever closer, Gorion took a step forward, extending a hand in welcome... only to pull it back as he finally got a glimpse of the man's face. His features were dark, hidden underneath the cloak, but illuminated enough for Gorion to tell that this man was not his informant. He stepped away from the intruder, folding his arms within his robes. "Excuse me sir... it would appear I misjudged you for another. My apologies."

"Nay... I think you're the one I'm supposed to be meeting. Information about the bandit camp, aye?" the hooded man spoke, his voice rough and ragged, but not overtly hostile. He eyed Gorion with glinting brown eyes, a shady grin crossing his features. "Or do I have the wrong man?"

"No... no, I am he whom you seek." Gorion replied hesitantly. "You, however, are not the one whom I have been speaking with. Drost mentioned nothing of a middleman. Who are you?"

"Just someone who knows a good bit about your little question." the man bowed. "M'friends call me Tran, though the full name be Tranzig. M'friends also tell me you're something of a wizard. That so?"

"Perhaps." Gorion offered, though he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Tranzig studied him. Something wasn't quite right... Drost had never been late, or sent another to meet with Gorion in his stead. He either came himself or didn't come at all. Too dangerous, entrusting this kind of work to another. "Tell me, 'friend,' where is Drost? Surely he would not send you to meet me without a message of some kind. An explanation of his whereabouts, perhaps?"

Tranzig stared for a moment, then barked a laugh. "Heh. Would've thought the answer to that'd be easy, old man. I killed him. Jus' like I'm going to kill you."

Bright light flashed around the assassin as he activated a spell, sending a burst of flame to envelop the Harper before him. Gorion threw up his cloak in the moment before it would have consumed him completely- touching the cloak fabric, the fire faded and died, much to the surprise of Tranzig. He realized his vulnerability the moment after Gorion had stood up straight again, beginning to cast- his incantations were too slow, and a flurry of Magic Missiles knocked him off his feet, the assassin coughing violently as he attempted to get some of his wind back, or at least to numb the pain that each bullet of magic had sent running through his body.

"Now then, you'll stay down if you know what's good for you." Gorion growled, pointing at the man on the ground with an arc of lightning at the tip of his finger, flashing every time rain struck it. If not for his Cloak of Fire Protection- no time to think about it. Time for actions. For answers. "And you'll tell me everything I want to know, is that clear?"

Tranzig laughed aloud, shaking his head as Gorion frowned in confusion, keeping his hand trained on the man sitting in the dirty puddle before him. "You just don't get it, do you? You think that for all yer power, people are just going to roll over for you and give up? The only ones who'll do that are saps, and the people I work for'll make sure they don't talk. Like Drost. Poor sot squealed like a pig when I gutted him."

"Hold your tongue, brigand." Gorion said, gritting his teeth as a bolt of lighting flashed past Tranzig, scorching the stone beside him. "I will not listen to any more of your taunts or lies. Now, what do you know about the bandit camp?!"

Tranzig raised his hands, nodding meekly. "All right, all right. No need to get flashy, eh? Jus' so happens, I don't know too much about the camp. I do know about something else though. Rather... someone else."

His face abruptly changed from docile and cooperative to feral, a knowing grin crossing his features. "Know about this young girl… couldn't be much older than 20, if that. Sweet little thing. Red hair... almost pink. Cutest grin ye've ever seen-"

Gorion's eyes flashed in alarm as Tranzig spoke; he reached down and plucked him off the ground and held him by the collar of his shirt. "I warn you, Tranzig-"

"And we're warning you, old man!" Tranzig shot back, sneering in Gorion's face. "You keep on sticking your nose in our business, ye'll find that it's not just you we go after. That lil' girl of yours... heard she was seen around Nashkel a little bit ago. Be a shame if something happened to her, wouldn't it?"

Gorion looked into Tranzig's eyes, as though searching for some kind of information, some kind of answer... there was nothing. Only the cold reality of what the man said, and how true his words really were. And yet... he couldn't simply let the man go. He couldn't just stop searching for the bandit camp. This was bigger than him, bigger than Imoen. He would have to trust she could take care of herself. He had to. Of course, that didn't mean he'd just sit down and let this dog get away with what he'd just done. Gorion threw Tranzig onto the ground harshly, summoning another blast of Magic Missiles to explode against the assassin as he writhed on the ground, holding his face with one hand and his smoking chest with another. Gorion leaned down and whispered, "Nobody's touching my little girl, do you understand me?! Nobody!! Now... you still haven't told me what I need to know. That's going to change."

Behind the back alleys, covered by the torrential sounds of the rain and the wind, nobody could hear Tranzig's screams.

X X X X X X

Showers of dirt, gravel, and rock fell all around the pair as they raced down the mine shaft, zigging and zagging as arrows struck the rocks around them. Imoen gasped for breath as she hunkered down, hoping to present a smaller target to the kobold archers that pursued them, relentless in their hunt as their yips and cries echoed past them. Xan was still his pessimistic self, though he had good reason to be depressed, truth be told.

Their initial foray into the mines of Nashkel had been fairly uneventful, if a bit tricky. Bribing the mine guards to let them pass and investigate was made much simpler by the unnatural fear that the watchmen had of the dangers lurking below. Xan had warned Imoen that their expedition would prove much more deadly than she thought, but the girl was inexorable. She had refused to leave and pushed on, sometimes seeming to draw the enchanter in her wake. The first level of mine trails and paths were well lit, filled with emaciated miners and guards that were more on edge than any men she'd ever seen before. It was a good thing she wasn't claustrophobic though; the cramped spaces and dark paths were oppressive, and could easily hide things that didn't want to be found.

Another arrow struck nearby Imoen, drawing a cry of shock and fear from her. Xan turned around, fearing the worst; he quickly verified that she was uninjured, then grabbed her by the arm and pulled her onward, continuing their attempts at escape from the hell they'd wandered into. That was what had happened, after all. Talking with the miners on the first level had given them little more than half-crazed warnings and pleas for some kind of relief. Imoen had tried to hold back the fear that was rapidly overtaking her in this place... they talked of demons, coming up from the bowels of the mines and tainting the ore. She doubted Khalid and Jaheira had anticipated that demons would be on the agenda when she decided to investigate this place.

The thought of her two friends, her surrogate family... it spurred her onward, made her run faster at the hopes of escaping this wretched place and seeing them again. The path before them split left and right; Imoen bolted ahead of Xan and shouted back to him, "Left, c'mon!"

The enchanter didn't have time to argue or bemoan her choice; she yanked him with her, the two stumbling down the rapidly darkening paths as they tried desperately to put some distance between them and their pursuers. Damnable kobolds... not quite the demons that the miners had warned them of, but almost as bad. The dog-like creatures came out from nowhere, growling and hissing as they bounded over the mine paths at speeds too great for Imoen and Xan to match. Ironically, the thing that kept them from catching up completely was their need to stop when aiming their bows. Not that it was much comfort- the further they descended into the mines, searching out the true cause of the iron decay, the more of these beasts came out, attacking and striking them from all sides.

Imoen's eyes brightened as she spotted the mine elevator at the end of the pathway; she bolted forward a bit faster, willing herself to reach the cart before the kobolds could catch them. The toe of her boot caught on a particularly large rock and her eyes widened as she began an uncontrolled plummet to the ground. She impacted hard, dust clouding up around her as she tried to ignore the pain in the palms of her hands and push herself back to her feet. Behind her, the sounds of their pursuers grew louder, and she could not help but recognize the sound of bow-strings being pulled taut. Xan spun in place, saw the arrows ready to fly, and did the only thing he could manage; a burst of magic flew over Imoen's head, impacting in the midst of the kobolds. They blinked, shaking their heads as though flies or gnats were buzzing about- one of them turned, and released his arrow directly into the head of his fellow archer. The shouts and confusion from the kobolds gave Xan enough time to grab Imoen and yank her to her feet, the pair darting into the elevator and yank the lever, sending them jolting downward into darkness.

"Thanks for the save..." Imoen panted, greedily sucking in air as she looked at her cut hands, wiping off blood and dirt on her leather armor. "I thought I was a goner for a second there."

"Lucky for us that my Confusion spell worked so well... an unusual occurrence, that." Xan sighed, glancing upward as though waiting for kobolds to appear at the top of the shaft and rain arrows down upon their heads. "Nicely done, spotting this elevator. Granted, descending further into the mines will no doubt lead us into certain death, but it could be no worse than what we just escaped-"

"Yeesh, lighten up, will ya?!" Imoen scowled, cutting the elf off. "S'not like we didn't just escape with our lives AGAIN?!"

For the little time she'd traveled with Xan, his doom-and-gloom personality had done nothing but get worse, and it was beginning to wear a bit thin for the usually cheerful girl. Granted, their situation called for a bit of caution, but that was no reason to write themselves off already. If she could just get a moment to catch her breath, a bit of space to think... she could come up with a plan. She always did. It was just that they hadn't had much time to rest, not since the kobolds had surrounded them in the mine shafts above. This was the third time they'd descended through the mines, dropping them to the... fourth, fifth, level of the mines? Fighting had proven useless... far too many to kill, far too many to sneak by. Xan had exhausted much of his magics in the upper levels, and Imoen was running dangerously low on arrows.

Before Xan could rebut her words, or more likely bemoan their situation once again, the mine elevator screeched to a halt, jolting the pair as they looked at where they had landed. Rather than mining tunnels, the path from the elevator led into a well lit passage of rock and wood supports, eventually ending in an arched doorway, inlaid with roughly carved designs to give the appearance of something fine in this dismal place. Needless to say, any kind of luxury would be out of place in mines as deep as these; Xan glanced at Imoen, who nodded as the pair crept out of their vehicle of choice and slowly approached. Xan stayed back as Imoen crouched at the door, listening for any sign of movement on the other side, any breathing to give away the presence of guards... nothing. She got to work on the lock, trying to steady her trembling hands as the picks slid inside the opening, gently prying and prodding against the tumblers... there. She sighed in relief at the sound of lock springing open; glancing at Xan, he sighed in acceptance and drew his Moonblade, the bluish glow illuminating their path as he slid the door open and crept inside, Imoen close behind.

The office, for that was surely what it was meant to be, had all the appearances of one who enjoyed their luxuries... if those luxuries were a bit rougher than most. Rough wooden desks, tattered flags of orc tribes... jagged swords hung on the wall like trophies of some bestial war. A hallway at the end of the office was closed by a door that didn't quite fit on the hinges that had been built for it. Adorned on the front of the desk itself was a symbol-

"Oh no. No, no." Xan breathed, beginning to back out toward the door as his head darted this way and that, looking for the death that was sure to overtake them.

"What is it?" Imoen asked, raising her bow, barely remembering to string an arrow. "What's wrong, Xan?"

"That-" the elf shook his head in despair, pointing at the desk. "It is the symbol of Cyric. This is come kind of cult, a group of rogue worshippers perhaps-"

The sound of the door opening at the end of the office snapped both their heads to attention, as a hulking figure stepped out into the office. It was a half-orc dressed in plate mail and holding a mace, his eyes growing wide as he spotted the two companions standing opposite him. His braided hair was greasy and unkempt, and from the twitches in his posture, it seemed as though he had been waiting for them... waiting, and cowering. "You! Tazok sent you here, didn't he?"

The pair exchanged glances for a half-second; there was no time for discussion, only action. A memory of the bluff that Montaron and Xzar had pulled on the slavers on the road to Nashkel came to mind; Imoen swallowed any fear she felt and stepped up, mustering a presence and courage to her voice that she knew was nowhere to be found. "What if we are? Sounds like you know why we're here... why don't you tell us why we should leave?"

"Tazok's nothing but a power-hungry brute; he has no idea what it takes to run this place! Who's been organizing the kobolds, tainting the iron supply? Me! He sits up there on the surface and thinks he can boss me around like I'm some kind of... I'll show him!" the half-orc screeched, clutching his mace and raising it high; any hopes of resolving the situation peacefully or getting more information out of the paranoid man were quickly dashed as he started the hand motions for his divine magics. "He can send all the assassins he wants, but this place is mine! Mine!"

Xan moaned a curse as he dove for cover behind a stone pedestal that adorned one side of the door; Imoen glanced to the right, hoping to spot a similar place of cover- nothing. Just a bookshelf pushed hastily against the wall... Imoen ran to it and pushed with all her might, toppling it just in time for her to dive behind and avoid the hail of blasphemous energy, the Unholy Blight raining over the area where Imoen had stood not a second earlier. Imoen cringed at the proximity of the evil energy, trying to peek up over the top and see where the half-orc was at... her eyes grew wide as she saw him charging her, the mace he carried raised high. She yelped as she leapt from her hiding spot, the mace crunching into the wood and sending splinters flying in all directions. She tumbled to her knees, looking up in relief as Xan stood from his cover, intoning a spell to stop their opponent in his tracks. The Hold spell leapt from his hands and swept through the half-orc... the mace-wielding cleric tumbled to the ground, off-balance as his limbs ceased any and all movement.

Xan blinked once as though surprised his spell had actually worked, before grabbing Imoen's arm and pulling at her to get to the door. "We have to get out of here! Who knows how many more like him are down here-"

"What are you doing?" Imoen pulled back, shaking her head with wide eyes. "He's down! We need to at least look around, find out why he's been tainting the ore! Maybe question him or something... this is what we've been looking for, right!?"

"I suppose..." Xan muttered, glancing at the frozen half-orc. "But I have a bad feeling about this. We should leave as quickly as possible; something doesn't feel right. I'm never wrong about these things, you know..."

"Just watch him and I'll see what I can find." Imoen patted him on the shoulder as she thumbed toward the direction that the cleric had come from. "I'll be back in a bit, 'kay? Just look on the bright side- we might have just cracked this iron thing wide open, right?"

Xan only shivered as he drew his Moonblade, standing closer to the paralyzed half-orc as Imoen disappeared into the hall, the door closing gently behind her.

X X X X X X

"You had best be right about this, halfling. If I find out that we are too late- or worse, that you have wasted my time in some kind of meaningless attempt to betray me down here, your life is forfeit."

Tamoko's harsh tones made Montaron nervous despite himself; the woman emanated an aura of deadliness that he was all too familiar with in his line of work. Working for the Zhentarim brought him into contact with some rough and tumble sorts, and normally he wasn't one to be intimidated by anyone or anything; still, this woman had powerful friends, and if the addle-brained mage's tracking spell didn't work out the way he promised it would-

"Don't have to be so uptight, lass." Montaron snarled back as the torchlight that illuminated the descent into the Nashkel mines sent lines of light flashing across their faces, faster and faster as they picked up speed, riding the shaft elevator down. "The girl'll be there, all right. Just like ye paid me for. I always delivers what I promise."

"We shall see." Tamoko paused as the lift finally hit bottom, landing with a sudden screech as the gear mechanism ground to a halt. The abrupt stop made him totter for a moment, though Tamoko seemed unfazed as she drew her katana, gesturing with the weapon for the halfling to take point.

Montaron growled an acquiescence and then moved forward, his keen eyes narrowing as he spotted the half-open door ahead, a figure standing over the top of a prone body-? Tamoko saw it too, and grabbed Montaron by the scruff of his collar and yanked him out of line of sight of the door, holding her blade at guard as she listened for any sign that they'd been noticed by whomever... or whatever was inside the mining stronghold. Montaron had told her that this girl, this god-spawn was investigating their operations in the Nashkel mines, but to have made it this far... something was wrong. Tazok would have a lot to answer for-

"What are ye waiting for, woman?" Montaron hissed, keeping his voice low but still maintaining that annoyed, surly tone. Tamoko briefly considered gutting the halfling and shutting him up for good- they would save the gold they'd paid him, at the very least... no. If the assassin's information turned out to be accurate and he had led them to a Bhaalspawn, he might be good enough to find others. Every dead god-spawn was another step for her lover to make, another bit closer to the Throne and the power he so desired. "She be in there now; get her before the lass finds a way out!"

The warrior tossed a vicious look at Montaron before taking a breath, closing her eyes as she focused herself for the possibility of battle ahead- she was a veritable blur as she covered the distance between the two of them and the door in brief moments. She slammed the door open, spotting a purple robed elf with a glowing blue blade in one hand, a spell forming in the other as he fixed gazes with her. Damn- he knew she was coming. Of course the elf would have heard their descent; it was stupid of her to rush in like this. Letting herself be goaded by the halfling... it was a stupid, stupid mistake.

Only one chance to disrupt the spell- her hand dropped to a set of throwing knives hooked to her belt, flinging them at the elf without accuracy or precision, her only hope being to disrupt his concentration. One of the knives grazed his wrist- it was enough. As the magic fizzled in his hand Tamoko lunged forward, bringing the katana down in a sweep designed to cut the elf open from shoulder to hip.

Xan tried to ignore the flash of pain from the knife wound he'd just received, knowing what was coming. The woman was fast, well trained, and undoubtedly able to outmatch him in single combat. His only hope, and a slim one at that, was to either escape entirely or get help from Imoen. Both options seemed equally doomed; Xan blocked a straight cut from his opponent with the Moonblade he wielded, hoping that the girl would hear the commotions and do something- anything to help.

Mulhaley, the half-orc cleric charged with running the Nashkel mines for the Iron Throne, stirred as the Hold spell cast upon him finally dissipated. He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head as he glanced to the right and left, looking for one of the invaders that had struck him- "You! Find the girl! Find her and kill her, or Sarevok will have your head!"

That name- Sarevok? He whirled behind him, spotting a woman facing off against the elf that had paralyzed him before. Not many would dare invoke the authority of the leader of this scheme, much less know his identity in general. She didn't explain herself, but he had no doubt that disobeying her would prove to be a fatal mistake, especially in his weakened condition. He pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet; the half-orc hefted his mace and stumbled down the hallway that Imoen had disappeared down.

Imoen swallowed as she strung an arrow to her bow, creeping back toward Xan... there was a battle taking place, and stumbling into it without any sort of warning or idea about what was going on would be a stupid mistake, especially in this kind of hostile environment. It wasn't enough that kobolds were crawling over every inch of this place, and that half-orcs were swinging maces at her head-

Mulhaley screamed a challenge as he rounded the corner of the hallway, spotting Imoen without trouble. Nowhere to hide; Imoen raised her bow and launched the arrow she'd prepared. It flew high, just over the top of his left pauldron. Imoen scrambled back, just avoiding a mace swing that would have crushed her with ease. No time to load another arrow, not enough room to maneuver beyond simple retreat... Imoen tried not to panic as she saw the anger in Mulhaley's eyes as he rushed her again-

A flash of light, and a set of dulled explosions echoed behind Mulhaley, the half-orc stopping in his tracks. Mulhaley's eyes opened wide, and he sank to his knees, slowly slumping over onto his stomach. A hole was blown out of the back of his armor, as well as a large chunk of flesh, meat, and bone. Behind the half-orc stood a grinning loon of a wizard, his tattooed face covered with the same maniacal grin that Imoen remembered so well- "Xzar!"

She ran forward, embracing the mage with relief as she looked up at him in gratitude. "What are you doin' here?! I'm thankful for the help an all, but this place is-"

"Dangerous?" Xzar cut her off, shaking his head. "Of that I have little doubt. Come, Imoen. We must escape before my less charitable counterpart finds us. Quickly, this way-"

"Aye! Ye be a bit too late, mage! Looks like the girl will be coming with me and my client, hmm?" Montaron's voice rang down the hall, the halfling stalking towards the pair with his sword drawn, a grin across his dirty features.

The sudden appearance of her old companions was more than confusing to Imoen as she turned between the squared off pair, trying to figure out just what was going on. "Um... not for nothing, but how did you both find me? And just what is going on here?!"

Xzar sighed, rolling up the sleeves of his robes as he glared at the smug halfling across from him. "To answer your first question, the answer lies on that daintiest of fingers you possess. For the other- well, Montaron did warn you about trusting other people. Too many strange folks on the roads these days..."

"There's a tidy sum on yer head, girl." Montaron sneered. "Shame about that elf back there- no need to get him involved in all this."

His words only barely sunk in as Imoen tried to register what she was hearing, the betrayal she had just felt- the condition of her only ally in this suddenly more treacherous place jumped to the forefront of her mind as she rushed down the hall, trying to barrel past Montaron. "Xan!!"

The doorway back to the main office space was suddenly filled by a glaring presence, a sword-wielding woman who looked far deadlier than either of her betrayers. "The elf will be of no use to you, I'm afraid." the woman said harshly, raising her bloodied sword to strike. "Still alive, though not for much longer, I fear. You, on the other hand, will receive no such leniency. Time to die."

Imoen backed away, glancing back and forth between Xzar and Tamoko with terror-stricken fear in her eyes. "Why- what are you doing?! Why me?!"

Tamoko looked at Imoen with what could have been construed as pity in her eyes for a moment- it passed quickly, and the sword she wielded sliced through the air, aiming to cleave Imoen in two. Imoen cringed, preparing for death- a blur leapt over her head and sent Tamoko tumbling away, sliding across the floor. The woman wiped her mouth with anger as she looked up at the slender figure crouched in front of Imoen, her pale skin and black hair gleaming in the firelight. "Why, little girl? Because you're special. Oh so special, and you don't even know it."

Xzar chuckled as he glanced down at Montaron, a scowl crossing the shorter man's face. He brandished his sword at the mage, spitting on the ground before he spoke. "Don't be gettin' so smug with yerself, eh? Yer ring-tracking spell may've found the lass, but we be the ones who found her first. Yer dark friend there might not know what she be getting into. This lady I traveled with has more skill with that blade that Drizzt Do'Urden, I'd reckon!"

His words made Xzar arch an eyebrow in surprise and interest as Tamoko pushed herself back to her feet, pointing her sword at Bodhi with a grimace and a warning. "I presume you're the ones that the thief warned me about? I'll give you one chance to back away unharmed. The girl is mine, and you won't be taking her."

Bodhi laughed, glancing behind her at Imoen, already trying to move somewhere to escape the battle about to erupt- she spun and kicked out, knocking the girl's legs out from under her. Even as Imoen fell, she lashed out with one palm, striking Imoen in the forehead and knocking her unconscious, all in one motion. She came to her feet, baring her fangs and claws at Tamoko before she could come any closer. "If you want her, you will have to come through me. I do hope you struggle- it makes it so much more sporting that way!"

Tamoko narrowed her eyes, then slashed forward. The blade came within a hair's edge of decapitating Bodhi; the vampire backflipped over Imoen's body, then vaulted forward, punching out with both hands to slam against Tamoko's breastplate. It would have knocked the woman off her feet if she hadn't spun with the incoming attack. As it was, Tamoko found herself off balance and unable to take advantage of Imoen's close proximity. Before she could maneuver to strike the unconscious girl, Bodhi had already crawled back to her feet and leapt at her again, hoping to take her past Imoen and onto the ground.

Bodhi's growl turned into a grunt of surprise as Tamoko lashed out with an elbow, nailing Bodhi square in the jaw and knocking her to the ground. She followed up with a sword strike, the blade ringing as it struck the ground beside Bodhi again and again, the vampire rolling back and forth as she attempted to avoid the swings. One kick from the vampire as she rolled was enough to throw off Tamoko's timing, and give Bodhi a chance to roll to her feet and slash out, tearing a gash in the plate armor her opponent wore. She stumbled back, avoiding a follow-up strike from Bodhi, bringing her sword down to block a second strike and shunt away a kick that would have struck her side.

A second passed as the two studied each other again- Tamoko lunged with her blade once, twice, each time narrowly avoided by the vampire taking a step back. Bodhi hissed as she looked for a place to lunge forward, an avenue of attack- a third lunge turned into a spin as Tamoko drew away, letting Bodhi come in to strike at her undefended back. It was a trap; the spin continued into a whirling slash that cut into Bodhi's stomach, sending her to one knee, gasping for air. Tamoko stood away from her fallen opponent, her sword held low and ready to strike. Bodhi forced herself to look up, blood running from her mouth; Tamoko snarled as she lunged out to decapitate Bodhi-

A fireball exploded across Tamoko's back and sent her sprawling forward with a cry of pain and shock. Montaron's curse echoed through the room as Tamoko slumped to the ground, the back of her plate mail burned and peeling as it scorched her skin. "Damn ye mage, I thought ye said we weren't taking sides!"

Before Tamoko could climb to her feet, the cold embrace of Bodhi's hands wrapped around either side of her head, the vampire standing above Tamoko's kneeling figure with a hiss of victory. Tamoko understood immediately; she dropped her sword and tried to halt the vampire's hands, but her strength was fading quickly. There was silence in the room for a moment as Tamoko tried to hold back the inevitable- a wet snap echoed all around as Tamoko's head spun around, her body slumping to the ground with a thud.

Bodhi clutched the wound on her stomach, breathing heavily as she gazed at Tamoko's corpse for a moment, and then looked back at Xzar and Montaron. "So... you would pit two employers against one another. How delightfully treacherous... I would kill you, were it not for your interference on my behalf. As it is, I do not wish to see either of you, ever again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, mistress." Xzar bowed low, elbowing Montaron to make the halfling join him, albeit begrudgingly. Bodhi strode past them and picked up Imoen's body, draping it over one shoulder as she moved back toward the office, regarding Xan's body for a moment as well. Her brother could always use more bodies for his experiments... perhaps it would not do to let the elf bleed out just yet. Besides, it was a long trip back to Athkatla. She would need some sort of nourishment on the way.


	12. Grieving Fury

_"The journey from your mind to your hands  
is shorter than you're thinking"_

**Eight Years Before Present Day.**

The armored pair of half-elves nodded with regard and respect to the men standing watch at the opened portcullis of the Friendly Arm Inn; they received mistrusting scowls in return, which was not altogether unwarranted, considering the manner of their last visit. Granted, Gorion had done his best to assure the fine guardsmen and soldiers of the Inn that their altercation with the assassin was entirely the fault of their attacker... but the Friendly Arm Inn had rules. Regulations. The folks inside didn't take kindly to disturbances or trouble and as of late, there was little else that surrounded anyone, Harper or no, who was investigating the iron crisis.

Still, Khalid and Jaheira were left to pass without any interference, and nary a look was sent their direction as the two climbed the flight of stairs leading inside to the Inn proper. The warm blast of heat was a relief to the cold winter air that froze the blood of any traveler on the road; a roaring fire to their right gave the entirety of the inside a cozy, homey touch, as well as doing the inhabitants justice as far as keeping the worst of the elements out and the paying customers comfortable inside. Khalid removed the helmet he wore and tucked it under one arm, glancing about the room in an effort to locate Gorion; Jaheira pointed, a wry smile crossing her exotic features. "There. It would seem our last visit made quite the impression, eh?"

True to her word, Gorion was easy to spot. There was a berth of empty seats on every side of the table that the Harper wizard sat at, nobody daring to risk the ire of this powerful man. As they crossed the table-filled room, squeezing between chairs both occupied and otherwise, Khalid snuck a look at the wall where the assassin that had confronted them last time had ended up. There were still burn marks on the wall, a faint outline of the man's body visible atop the nearly-scrubbed-clean surface.

Gorion waved for the pair to sit down, having spotted them almost as soon as they had entered the room. He was nursing a measure of wine, taking another sip as his old friends took a seat. He waited until one of the barmaids had come and asked their pleasure- both declined without question. What they were going to have to tell Gorion would not be easy. Not to say that alcohol might not be welcome after delivering the news...

"It does my heart good to see the two of you again." Gorion sighed, setting his wine glass down as he brushed the tip of his beard with the other hand. "The past weeks have not been kind. I do hope that you've fared better than I."

"In a manner of s-speaking." Khalid offered, glancing at Jaheira. It wasn't as though they had really rehearsed how they were going to break this news to him. "We returned from the Cloakwood Mines a week ago. Our visit was as fruitful as we h-had hoped."

"The Iron Throne is at the heart of this crisis, there can be no doubt." Jaheira continued, leaning in as she lowered her tones, brushing a lock of her chestnut colored hair from her face. "The guards at the mine may have tried to pass themselves off as soldiers of the Gate, members of the Iron Throne... but they were brigands through and through. We found members of the Black Talon and the Chill-"

"Both?" Gorion's eyes widened; very little took the man by surprise. When something did... it was wise to pay attention. "This is troubling. It confirms my fears and what I had heard while investigating, but still.... if the Iron Throne is behind the banditry, then there must be a reason for this madness. They would not risk starting a war with Amn over something so small as trade prices or iron monopolies. We are still missing an important piece of the puzzle..."

Gorion trailed off, then frowned, as though realizing something that he had neglected, a fact presented that was simply waiting for him to pounce on it. "You said you went to Cloakwood- I had thought you were going to investigate Nashkel?"

Jaheira inhaled sharply, preparing for the worst. "Gorion... we headed to Nashkel, intending to check the mines and see what we could find. While we were there... we ran into Imoen."

The mention of his adopted daughter's name made Gorion lurch forward, breathing lightly as dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach. If she had been in Nashkel... then Tranzig hadn't been lying. They knew where she was. He had to find her, had to get her out of danger. "You found her? Is she all right? Where is she now?"

"She was traveling with a pair of Zhentarim agents." Jaheira continued, trying to keep her tone level and calm, even as Gorion grew ever more agitated. "We took her from their company and told her of our plans, hoping she would seek refuge somewhere while we made our investigations. She..."

Jaheira lost the words to continue, Khalid jumping in to finish for her. "I-Imoen took it upon herself to investigate the Nashkel mines with the aid of an elven enchanter we met. We tried to d-dissuade her, but you know how stubborn she-"

Gorion stood, his voice rising in fury as he knocked the glass of wine at his spot over, the half-full contents spilling all over the table. "You did what?!"

Jaheira grabbed the mage by the sleeve and pulled him back to a sitting position, the fearful anger filling his features as he pointed at them. "I told you she was *not* to get involved in this! In any way! This is far too dangerous work for her to be doing; I trusted you to keep her out of it, and you sent her head-first into this mess. They know about her! The last place she needs to be is anywhere near this iron crisis. Where is she now?!"

The downcast expressions on both their faces did nothing to ease his fears; Jaheira spoke, her voice dull and dark. "We told her that we would investigate the Cloakwood Mines and that we would all meet back here in a fortnight. That was... that was over a month ago."

Gorion's fists clenched as he bowed his head, a fire burning in the wizard's eyes. He slammed his fist on the table and for a moment- the briefest of moments- the two sitting opposite him feared he would do something they would all regret. It passed wordlessly and he looked up again, his face unreadable. "Have you investigated Nashkel since then? Searched for her?"

"We did, before we came here to meet you." Khalid said, setting his helmet down on the table, avoiding the spilled puddle of wine. "When we arrived, the Flaming Fist had c-cordoned off the mine and were clearing out the rest of the tunnels. Apparently there was a half-orc in the deepest levels of the mine that was t-tainting the ore, using k-kobolds to kill anyone who ventured too deep. T-there were signs of a struggle, but no other bodies were found aside from his. Just... just this."

Khalid procured a bow from his pack, setting it beside his helmet. Gorion looked it over, not recognizing the weapon- he glanced up at Jaheira, who cleared her throat and replied, "It was Imoen's. She showed it to us when we saw her last."

"And there were no other signs of her?" Gorion tried to calm himself, closing his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. Where could she have gone? If she had been down there and was responsible for dealing with those who had been tainting the ore, than why hadn't she met up with Khalid and Jaheira two weeks ago?

"At the very least, we know the Iron Throne didn't capture her." Jaheira reasoned. "They would not have abandoned their operations at the mines so quickly; leaderless, the kobolds were discovered far too quickly. Either she made it out and could not join us for some reason-"

"Or it could be one of a dozen other possibilities." Gorion cut her off, lifting his eyes as he glared heavily at both of them, folding his hands in front of them. "Very well then. I made some discoveries of my own while we've been apart; I believe I am close to finding the bandit encampment, thanks to a little help from one of their agents. I'm confident that I'll have found them within the month, maybe sooner."

"That's great n-news." Khalid nodded vigorously, glancing at Jaheira. "With both the ore taint removed and the b-bandits out of commission, all hopes of war will be averted! When will you alert the Flaming Fist?"

"I'm not going to." Gorion responded, his voice dark as he gathered his robes, standing from the table and leaving a handful of coppers beside his spilled drink. "I'm going to find their camp and I'm going to kill them all. If they want to act like animals, attacking my loved ones and using them against me... so be it. I will treat them as animals."

"And what do you expect us to do during this time?" Jaheira demanded, standing opposite Gorion. "We will not simply stand idly by while you-"

"Both of you will search for Imoen, for any trace, any hint of her whereabouts." Gorion cut her off, his tone of voice brooking no arguments. Still, his face softened, his voice lowering to an almost pleading tone as he finished. "Please... find her."

Jaheira inhaled, holding back the indignant shout she would have made in another second. The look of fear in his eyes was palpable, and for the briefest of moments, she felt sorry for the brigands when he found them. She nodded in acquiescence. "We will do everything we can, Gorion. Just- just remember. You're not the only one who cares about Imoen."

He smiled weakly before turning away and striding out the door, back into the chill of the winter air. "I know."

X X X X X X

He remained motionless, standing perfectly still as he gazed upon the body lying before him. He hadn't moved, hadn't spoke since she had been brought in- that was nearly ten minutes ago. Since then, the enormous warrior had simply stood beside her body and watched. Watched as though hoping she would suddenly recover, that her broken neck would suddenly heal or that her deathly pallor would brighten into the tone of one who yet lived.

False hope, of course. She was dead. Tamoko was dead... and so Sarevok simply stood and gazed upon the body of his dead lover, not speaking, not moving. One of the men in his organization, a simple aide to the Iron Throne, had made the mistake of interrupting him. Asked whether he needed anything, asked if he would be okay. It was a simple gesture, really. An easy gesture of empathy, a little nod to human care for one another. To sense when another was grieving and when they needed support. Human. Simple. He hadn't deserved to have been thrown into a stone wall head first. He certainly hadn't deserved to have Sarevok's blade rammed into his gut, nor to have it then ripped up and out through his skull. He hadn't deserved that at all. He was just being human.

That was the problem, wasn't it? Human... mortal. Full of emotions such as empathy, pity, fear... love. Grief. Sorrow. Weaknesses, all of them. Nothing more. He had loved her, of that there was no doubt. When she had been brought to him, he had done all the things humans do. Denied it. Fought against the simple truth that lay right in front of him. For the first time in a long time... in so long, he had cried. He had shed tears for the loss of his beloved. The mighty Sarevok Anchev, heir to the Iron Throne... and heir to so much more, had wept. It was only now, hours and hours after that release of emotion, that blatant show of weakness, that he could finally consider what this meant for him. How this could be handled... how it had to be handled.

If he was to proceed with his plan, there could be no weakness. No sorrow. No grief. Grief was useless. Despair was useless. Anger... anger, and rage. Those were emotions he could use, could channel into his work. He felt the fury build up inside him, replacing every sorrow, every feeling of love that he had felt for Tamoko. All of it would do nothing but harm him, in the end. He needed it to be something else... anything else.

His eyes, their natural brown whenever he was around her, slowly began glowing bright yellow again. She had always told him it frightened her; he had done his best to contain that particular aspect of his Deathbringer studies when she was near. Now... now, there was no reason to withhold it. No reason to withhold any of the savage fury that lurked at the borders of his consciousness. It demanded release... and he would be more than happy to comply. First, the ones who had killed her would die. Then, the Bhaalspawn that had escaped him, this girl- she would die. Then the armies of Amn. After that... it all depended on who was left standing, now didn't it? Bhaalspawn, Amnish, it didn't matter. His hunger needed to be sated. His lust for murder, his rage, needed an outlet.

A low growl began building in his throat as it tried to escape, a razor's edge on his tongue as he reared his head back, clenching his fists- he roared, the booming howl echoing through the halls and chambers of the tower. Everybody within earshot froze, unwilling to risk the wrath of the man they served yet unsure of whether doing nothing would incur said wrath. It was only when they saw the sight of him stalking down the halls, his Bhaal-helmet firmly in place that they allowed themselves to relax. He only donned his full armor when he was getting ready to do battle. The grim smile on his face said it all- no man would survive an encounter with Sarevok tonight.

X X X X X X

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Imoen groaned, the constant din of the leaky pipe located somewhere nearby booming like a drum in her ears, her auditory senses slowly returning to her. Still, each drip was like someone was taking a sledgehammer to her head; she slammed her hands over her ears and thrashed herself into a seated position, shaking her head as the world spun and warped in front of her. It was dark... nearly too dark to see anything. Bars in front of her, cold metal beneath. One of her hands slipped down toward her hip- nothing. The dagger she kept there, the Wand of Magic Missiles... both of them were gone. Her bow was long since gone- the memory came back to her. Yes. Yes, she'd dropped it when she was being chased by that half-orc, down in the mines. Right before-

Imoen tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness made certain that she fell right back to where she had started, landing with an inglorious thud in her cell. Xzar... Montaron. Two people she had thought were her friends. People she thought she could trust. And in the end, betrayers, both of them. But... that wasn't all, was it? No... two sides, fighting over her. A woman with a sword... she'd meant to kill her. That's right. She'd been saved by-

"Wakey wakey, little one." the last visage she had seen before lapsing into unconsciousness was staring into her cell intently, black eyes glimmering like obsidian gems in the dim torchlight. Imoen fought the urge to jump at the sight; her captor was short, with spiky hair and deathly-pale skin. Bodhi apparently saw the fear in her eyes- she laughed, leaning in and wrapping her hands around the cell bars. "Don't be so frightened. I did save your life, after all. Whether you thank me for such an action or not remains to be seen... I have little doubt that the elf you traveled with would prefer death to his current circumstance. He has said as much since he awoke."

"Xan?" Imoen croaked out, trying to get a feel for where she was and just who had captured her. Surely this woman wasn't *normal*... "Wher-"

She tried to ask a question, but her tongue felt thick and heavy, her speech slurred and incoherent. Bodhi shook her head, anticipating her question regardless. She thumbed to a cell behind her, sneering with disregard. "The man is quite possibly the most pessimistic thing I have ever seen... it is quite amusing, his bleak outlook. He shares no fear of death, only a dry acceptance. It... amuses, me. That is why he yet remains. You, on the other hand... you offer so much more."

"Why... why are you doing this?!" Imoen finally managed to cry out, but it was scarcely more than a whimper, bleak and lost in the darkness, wherever she was. No Khalid, no Jaheira, certainly no Gorion.

"It is as I said before, child..." Bodhi whispered slyly, letting her eyes run the full figure of Imoen's body. "You... are... special."

"Rather, your soul is, to be exact."

An emotionless and unforgiving voice rung through the air, punctuated by pounding footsteps that echoed past the two women, filling the room. If Imoen had known fear before- the sight of a horrifically scarred man, his head covering stitched directly to his skull and draped in black robes and metal armor, was enough to send her over the edge. He walked to Bodhi's side, glancing down at the vampire who mock-scowled up at him. "Spoiling it so soon, brother... you really must learn to let these things last. It's so much more... fulfilling."

"I have little use for such pleasantries, sister." Irenicus stated, gesturing towards the other cell where, presumably, Xan was still being held. "Play with your other captive if you need something more to occupy your attention. I have business with the god-child."

"G-god-child?" Imoen whispered, only half-understanding what was being said before her. None of this made any sense to her. None of it- and yet, she felt compelled. Drawn to their words. Something was calling to her, something deep within... something primal. Instinctive. Like she was peering into her own soul; it was dark, full of shadows and whispers- a flash of red and a visage of teeth and claws ripped through her mind just before she pushed it away, refusing to look any further.

Irenicus watched her lurch away from nothing, backing to the furthest corner of her cell, suspended off the ground in the center of his dungeon. He smiled humorlessly, knowing what it was she was so frightened of. Rather, he would know, in time. He spoke, circling the cell to bring himself closer to her. "You are one of a special breed, Imoen. A child of the gods, a Bhaalspawn. You are one the daughters of the Lord of Murder."

She heard him speak... and yet, she couldn't comprehend. Too much, all too much, all too fast. It couldn't possibly be true. It didn't make sense. Gorion would have told her... Gorion...

"I can see you commiserating within yourself, trying to deny what you instinctively know to be true. You cannot run away from what you are, Imoen. I shall not allow it." Irenicus said calmly, before raising his hand, letting it fill with purple flame. "You have much untapped power, girl. I shall draw it out of you, bring it to the surface."

Flame surrounded her, and for a moment the world went white. Amidst Imoen's screams of agony, she could barely hear Irenicus' words fading into the background. "The pain will only be passing; you should survive the process."


	13. Apocalypse Now!

_"Be careful if you think you stand  
you just might be sinking"_

**Seven Years Before Present Day.**

A snarl escaped Irenicus' lips as he stormed through the underground complex that comprised his base of operations in Athkatla. It was a perfect place, honestly... or it had seemed like it when he had chosen it years ago. Sealed within the catacombs beneath Waukeen's Promenade, there was little chance of discovery by one of the annoyingly persistent mercenary groups, and even less chance that his pathetic kin would have infiltrated a human city of this size. They would be taken completely by surprise when he made his triumphal return. Or they would have been, had things gone according to plan.

It had been a good plan, really. Not as convoluted as some, and certainly within the means of his sister's ability to accomplish. Found a guild of Nosferatu in the Graveyards of the city, use it as a staging point to destroy the one organization that might've uncovered him. Might've found his lair, and ruined everything. The Shadow Thieves... they would've fallen, or at the very least, been kept from interfering. The ones captured by Bodhi would have served well enough as the vessels for the soul transference rituals, even if he hadn't yet located a second Bhaalspawn, he would've found one in time. Time... the one thing he was beginning to run short of.

He had not counted on the war that was brewing between Amn and Baldur's Gate, the increase in security and activity by Amnish guards, Knights of the Radiant Heart... even the Shadow Thieves were making something of an effort to secure the city, not wanting their turf to be devastated by the armies of the Gate anymore than the paladins of the Radiant Heart. Unfortunately, all of this meant that Bodhi's guild was far slower in gaining the power and foothold he had anticipated- the vigilance their foes displayed would most certainly not have been there had this war been averted. As it stood now, it looked almost impossible for anything other than full-scale conflict to erupt; it was only a question of when.

Irenicus cursed again, hurrying back to the chambers where Imoen was being held. Almost six months since he had captured the girl and begun his attempts at changing her. Opening her to the power that lay hidden underneath that obnoxiously bright exterior. She was... changed, that much was certain. Not where she needed to be, but she had lost the will to fight. He needed her to be ready- they did not have the time that he had originally thought. Not that he would be able to do anything with her until he had acquired another of the god-spawn. He needed another Bhaal-child, and he simply did not have the resources above ground to find one for him. Irenicus, once the greatest mage of the elven court, could do nothing until then. Or until Bodhi had provided him with enough souls to use in the transference rituals. Or-

Irenicus turned the corner to enter the dungeon where Imoen was held, only to see her cage empty, the door hanging open and swinging back and forth. A small piece of twisted metal was jammed into the door lock; she'd not only nabbed a thin piece of metal somewhere, but fashioned it into a reasonable tool, and then picked the lock too. His teeth clenched together in fury as he glared at the back of the room- her companion when they had first been captured was also gone, his door hanging open. She had fooled him. Made him believe she was no threat to him, had no resistance left in that frail body of hers... perhaps he had underestimated her. Not a mistake he would make twice.

Others might've panicked, or let their emotions govern their next actions. Not him. He'd not been ruled by emotions for some time... in fact, almost every action he took these days was based in cold, unfeeling logic. So was his next move, considering how best to find them in his labyrinth of a dungeon. They would try to escape. No need to exert himself in seeking them out; simply let them come to him. Irenicus let a mocking sneer cross his face as he vanished into a dimension door.

X X X X X X

Xan glanced behind them as the pair raced through the tunnels and darkened halls of the underground maze they'd been trapped in for the last day or so since escaping their cages. How it had happened was nothing short of a miracle to begin with, that much was certain. Six months. Six months of cowering in a cage, waiting for death... a death that had somehow not come yet. Of course, that was just a matter of time. He and Imoen had been running for almost the full day since escaping. Hiding. Fighting when necessary. Trying their hardest to find some way out of this nightmare. Honestly, he'd never have thought she had it in her to pull it off. Watching the torments inflicted upon her by that madman... listening to her scream... he bought it, just like Irenicus, that she was done. Given up. Just waiting for the end, much like he.

"Xan, c'mon! I think I might know where we're at!" Imoen whispered, pulling the mage with her down one of the hallways before them. How she could know which of the paths would lead anywhere remotely close to the exit was beyond him- he thought about asking, then noted the scratches beside the other halls and the dirt under the nails of her hand as she held onto his wrist. He felt slightly embarrassed and ashamed, knowing how useless he was being as she fought to get them out, to keep them alive. He was the one with centuries of experience, the one who had been sent to investigate the iron crisis. He should've been helping her, not the other way around.

"Feelin' okay? I know you weren't exactly feeling so great when I got you out, but s'not like we had much time to rest right there, after all-"

Her words were a constant flow, as much of a way for her to relieve the stress and fear he knew she was feeling as it was her natural empathy, her caring for his wellbeing. They were, after all, the only two people down here that they knew of who could possibly be considered anything close to a friend, or even an ally. They were on their own down here. No Council. No weapons, even. Just a few daggers and a short bow they'd managed to scrounge from a few kobolds they'd killed. He didn't even have his magic to rely on, what with no sleep for the past day. All of his spells, all his powers... useless. In this situation, he and Imoen were equals on the field of combat... no. No, she was more than his equal. Her spirit, her will to keep fighting and keep living far exceeded his. Every time he'd make a gloom and doom prediction that was almost certain to come true, she'd just smile and shake her head. Assure him that they would make it. Assure him that she wouldn't leave him, he wouldn't leave her, and they'd get out of it alive.

"Still, wish we had some of yer spells. They'd come in really handy right now- say! Once we get out, you can teach me magic, 'kay? Gorion always said I could learn it if I wanted... heh, always said I could learn anything if I tried. He'd be able to get us out of this in a pinch-"

Her foster father. Gorion. She'd talked about him a bit when they were on the road. Not much now. Now that she knew who she actually was. What she was. He still couldn't quite buy it himself... but why would the mad wizard lie to her? Why would he go on and on about her power, her potential, unless he was telling the truth? Yet even after all of this... she was still herself. Oh, not the same girl she'd been when she arrived six months ago, that much was certain... but Irenicus hadn't broken her. For all his talk of unlocking the real Imoen, it seemed like what he saw was what he would get. Xan would have let himself smile, if only for a moment. Would have, if not for the sight that flashed in front of them as they turned the corner, heading for a door that for all they knew might've been the way out. They would probably never find out. Blocking it was a dimension door that revealed the hated sight of their captor, stepping out to stop their escape.

"You have eluded me long enough, god-child." his vengeful tones filled their hearing, and Imoen took a step back, unsure of what to do. Run? Fight? Hide? No. Xan swallowed... he wouldn't allow it. She'd saved him... given him more hope than he had ever dared dream. He wouldn't allow this madness to continue. Not that he expected to escape... no, that was out of the question. He knew he would die down here. But maybe... maybe he could get Imoen out somehow. If he could... then it had been worth it. She deserved it.

Xan lunged away from Imoen, his dagger clenched in his hand as he swung at Irenicus, willing the man to react slowly, for the knife to cut his flesh open and his blood to spill over the floor- no. Not even close. Irenicus' arm was a blur, coming up to bat aside his wrist and come around with a crushing blow to the side of his face, sending him to his knees in one stroke. Xan blinked once, tasting blood. He hadn't expected that, really. All the air in his lungs left as Irenicus brought a boot into his solar plexus, a 'whuff' sound erupting from his dirtied and chapped lips as he rolled to his back, desperately gasping for oxygen.

Irenicus looked down at the enchanter with a self-satisfied smirk, then raised a hand that crackled with magic to halt any similar attempts from Imoen- his eyes narrowed as he saw the girl standing tall with her dagger clenched tightly in one hand... holding it to her throat. "Stop it." she choked out, trying to remain courageous in the face of her tormentor. "Stop it or I swear I'll kill myself."

Xan glanced up at Imoen, fighting back the urge to retch on the floor beneath him. Not that he'd eaten anything for the past few days. Still, once the urge to vomit had subsided, he tried to push himself to his knees at the very least, only for Irenicus to grab him by the collar and heft him beside him, his eyes locked on the Bhaalspawn that dared challenge him. "And why, little one, should I do that? What is it to me if you slit your throat?"

"So all that stuff about needing my soul was a bunch of lies, huh?" Imoen swallowed, still managing to keep herself from turning and running. If she lost her nerve now, let him call her bluff... she'd never get another chance. Never. It had to be now. "Guess it doesn't matter if I kill myself. Not like I'm ever getting out of here, right?"

Irenicus paused for a moment, eyeing her. She was full of surprises. He had definitely underestimated her. He was good at reading people though. He could see it in her eyes. If he pressed the issue... she just might do it. That wouldn't do... not with all the other problems he'd had finding another god-spawn for his own salvation. His face was set in stone as he hurled Xan from him, sending him skidding to the girl's feet as he folded his arms. "Very well. Now that you've convinced me to cease my actions toward your friend, what do you intend? Surely you know that I will not let you escape from this place until I have what I need. You said it yourself."

Xan forced himself to one knee, looking at her with trepidation. He spoke the truth... they wouldn't get out of here. Not without him taking her soul, for whatever foul purpose he needed it. She took her eyes off Irenicus for one moment to see if he was okay, but not just to see if he was all right, but to search for answers. To see if he had the answer, the way out that eluded her. But as much as he wanted to help, as much as he wanted to show her the way out... he couldn't. No. There was one way. He met her gaze, and he spoke with conviction, knowing what had to be done, for both their sakes. "You have to end it, Imoen. Me, then you. Don't leave him with anything."

"I... I-" Imoen looked at him with horror, shaking her head as Xan glanced at Irenicus with panic rising. If she didn't act quickly, he might take her by surprise... he wouldn't allow it. She had to do it now-

"She can't do it." Irenicus stated calmly, his arms still folded as he watched them. "She won't kill you... and she won't leave you to my care. Quite the stalemate... just how long do you think I shall allow this foolishness? What do you intend to do? Strike a deal? Plea for mercy?"

Just like that, Imoen's face went hard. Xan allowed himself to believe for a moment that his words had spurred her to action. That she would do what he could not... she whirled to face Irenicus and growled, "Fine. Here's a deal for you. You agree not to harm Xan. In return... I become your apprentice."

Xan froze, not believing what he had just heard. Madness... it had to be. She'd lost her senses. No other explanation- but her eyes said differently. He had never seen her more serious, more determined. Irenicus was silent... and then, they saw him do something they had yet to see in the past six months. Irenicus laughed. He threw his head back and roared in amusement, shaking his head as his laughs echoed off the walls around them. His bellows died down in moments, only for his gaze to return to Imoen, noting in an almost conversational tone, "It has been many years since I have felt anything resembling authentic humor. For that, I shall pretend that I am actually considering your words. Why?"

"You said it yourself." Imoen said grimly, echoing the mage's words. "You don't have anyone on the surface to find another Bhaalspawn..."

She paused at that word, as though trying to reconcile the knowledge of what Irenicus had told her about herself with what she felt inside, then continued. "And you need someone that won't immediately be recognized as one of those bloodsuckers you've got around here. And you need someone who can be stealthy. And if you teach me magic, then you'll have someone who can do all that and more."

Irenicus paused for a moment, as though to consider what she was saying. He spoke again, a thin smile crossing his lips. "Then what? You know I will require your soul from you in the end. What do you hope to do... use the magics I teach you to slay me? Do you think me foolish enough to allow you that opportunity?"

"You won't have to if I find you a Bhaalspawn to take my place." Imoen countered, feeling her throat tighten. This wasn't her... bartering her own life with the lives of others... promising to deliver people she didn't even know to save herself. She kept telling herself it was the only way. The only way to save both herself and Xan. "And you're right. If I think I'll ever get the chance to kill you, I will. But you know I won't squander my life unless I'm sure I can do it. Until then..."

"I'll have my servant, you'll be free to plot some kind of escape, and your friend will be unharmed." Irenicus bared his teeth, unfolding his arms with a cock of the head. "I sense such potential inside you, little one... were one such as I to unlock the magic inside, you could grow powerful indeed. Fighting the battles I require... it would be a great step in taking the steps I require to finish my plans here. Still- I could never fully trust one who waited each moment for the perfect opportunity to thrust a knife into my back. How could I train one such as that?"

Xan's heart felt like it would burst from his chest... surely the madman wouldn't accept her offer? He couldn't be that foolish... Imoen would wait, she would bide her time, and eventually she would kill Irenicus. It was that simple- "Very well. I require only one thing of you first. Swear a Geas of service to me. Bind your soul to an oath of service, and I shall unlock the power that you keep locked away inside you."

Irenicus' words rung through the air, and for a moment, everything was silent. Xan looked at Imoen, and... and by the gods, he could see she was considering it! She was giving thought to it! He finally found the strength to push himself to his feet, grabbing her by the arm, not even realizing that he was pulling her knife from her neck, removing the threat that kept Irenicus at bay. "Imoen! You cannot swear a Geas to him... you cannot!"

"It's the only way..." Imoen whispered, Xan shaking his head in fear.

"People will die, Imoen. You'll die. I will die-"

Imoen turned back to Irenicus. "And you won't harm Xan. Swear you won't touch him."

Irenicus smiled cruelly. "I swear I shall not touch him... and now, Imoen, it is your turn to swear. Swear the oath."

He began his incantations, and magic rose around the girl as he spoke. Xan could barely hear Irenicus' words... he was casting the Geas, binding it to her soul. If she swore the oath... she'd be his. Forever. Didn't she know it?! She had to know what he would do... what he would make her into. There was only one way out, and she was holding it in her hands. He threw her one final look of desperation as the words Irenicus spoke ceased, waiting for her acceptance, the final part of the spell.

"Please... don't do it." Xan whispered. "Please..."

"I... I swear it."

A green mist swirled around Imoen, sweeping into her and sending her to one knee with the sheer force of the binding. Imoen ended up gasping for air as her head throbbed... she managed to look up at Irenicus, her eyes widening as he took two steps forward, grabbed Xan and threw him to the ground with a snarl of victory. She rose in anger, about to cry a challenge- pain surged through her and she found herself on her knees again, clutching her head in agony.

"Remember who you serve now." Irenicus spoke softly, bending over and picking up the dagger she had held before, giving it to her handle-first. "*I* shall not touch your friend, as promised. You, however... your first act as my servant is to kill him. Kill him now."

The shock of his betrayal was only matched by the sheer agony on her face as she tried with all her strength to fight the command he had given her... and yet, she couldn't. She let out a scream as she writhed on the ground, barely managing to crawl to her feet and trudge toward Xan, the defeated enchanter looking on in despair, no longer making any sort of attempt to run or fight back. She raised the dagger in her hands, her eyes glassy with tears and fear as she met Xan's glimpse for the final time.

He spoke softly, his last words haunting her before she silenced him forever. "I told you so."

X X X X X X

Rubble. Roaring fires, destroyed encampments... the smell of burning and charred flesh.

That's all there had been for the past six months as he had sought them out. Moving from clue to clue, base to base, destroying all who stood in his way. Killing any who preyed on the travelers and exacerbated the crisis that was almost beyond stopping. The one who led it, the mastermind behind all of it... that was still unknown to him. He had yet to pierce the veil of secrecy that kept the one who had threatened his daughter safe. That would change. What he needed was one who knew the truth... and here, in the main encampment of the bandits who plagued the Sword Coast, he had found the one he needed.

All he had to do now was incapacitate the man... and stay alive at the same time. That could prove problematic. Gorion strode through the smoky clouds that filled the bandit camp since his arrival. The main force of rogues had fought and died when he had made his appearance; his spells had decimated their ranks, dozens falling as he unleashed his full potential. There were a few who had seen the folly of continuing the fight and had fled his wrath... they didn't matter. It was the one who still remained in his tent, the one who had yet to emerge and face him. He was the one that knew where the mastermind behind this apocalypse was hiding.

He hadn't allowed himself to rest in almost a week- supporting his aged frame through potions and spells, it was beginning to wear him down. Still, he didn't have much of a choice... word had reached his ears that Baldur's Gate was nearly ready to launch a full scale invasion against Amn, despite all of his efforts. Only one thing was holding them back... but for all his wisdom, he didn't know what. That was why he was here. He had to find out what the trigger for this unstoppable war would be... once he did, he would stop it. He would end the threat. He would save his daughter from whatever hell she had been dragged into, and he would kill those responsible. Gorion's face tightened as he heard a roar from the tent displayed on the wooden platform, presiding over the whole of the ruined encampment. His foe was apparently ready to fight.

The mammoth form of the half-ogre overshadowed Gorion as he came out of his tent, a jagged blade in one hand, heavy plate armor covering his body with blades extending from the wrists and ankles. He was as fearsome as any opponent that the Harper wizard had ever faced. And yet... a vision of Imoen's kind features, laughing gently, wavered in his mind's eye. He curled his lip in fury, then shouted three words of power. Lightning grew in his hand, collecting and growing, until he hurled the ball at his opponent. The flash of light was blinding, and the sound of the explosion equally deafening- Gorion threw up his arm to shield himself from the flare, but made out the form of the half-ogre leaping off the platform and coming down toward him sword-first, ready to slice him in two. He rolled out of the way, ignoring the ache in his old bones.

"You have torn my men apart, old man. Ruined everything I've worked for. I swear, Tazok will taste your blood before this ends!" he roared, approaching the wizard with a berserker rage in his eyes.

"It was you who started this war, fiend!" Gorion shouted back, hurling a fireball at Tazok's chestplate- the giant of a man hunkered down and took the blast, ignoring the pain as he pushed forward, shouting at the top of his lungs as his sword came across in a slash meant to separate Gorion's legs from his torso.

A Stoneskin activation was enough to save Gorion's life, but the sheer force of the blow sent him to the ground again, Tazok following his path with another strike that would have split him in half. Once more his spell saved his life, but the fury with which Tazok struck was keeping Gorion off balance. Unable to focus the power he'd need to bring down such a behemoth. Gorion tried his best to ignore the next blow, and the one after that. Surely his Stoneskins were almost used up now...

Tazok grinned in victory as the mage's skin returned to its natural color, the protective magics gone. His sword rose high, coming down to end the battle- a Prismatic Spray ignited at Tazok's chest, and the blinding flashes of color and light worked their effects upon him as he flew backwards, embedding in a pile of wood and rubble. Gorion pushed himself back up, noting with satisfaction the sword that his opponent had dropped when thrown back with such force. There had been no wasting of the spell- every beam of light had struck Tazok squarely. The force must have been unimaginably painful- Gorion let himself smile vengefully for just a moment, then strode over to where Tazok's unmoving body was lodged, taking note of the damage he had done with satisfaction. The front of Tazok's chestplate was peeled away, revealing a badly burned chest, patches of flesh completely gone and revealing the muscle underneath. He was still alive... barely.

While Gorion would have loved nothing more than to find out the information he needed through slow and painful means, he had neither the time nor the energy. He managed the incantations for a spell of Domination; as soon as the orb of light left his hands and entered Tazok's bloodied head, the half-ogre's eyes flashed open and he opened his mouth to scream- whether in rage or pain, Gorion didn't know... but he could not. He could only lie there in silence, obedient to the commands of the wizard standing before him.

"I have no time to deal with you as you most certainly deserve... you will tell me what I need to know, and you will not hesitate." Gorion said through gritted teeth, kneeling down to hear the man better. "Who is behind this crisis? Who do you serve!"

"S...S...Sarevok." Tazok finally managed, doing his utmost to resist but having no success. If looks could kill, Gorion would have been a steaming pile of burnt flesh. As it was... Tazok could only seethe harmlessly. "Son of Rieltar Anchev. So-called leader of the I-Iron Throne."

The tone of voice, the way Tazok spoke made Gorion pause, frowning with concern. "What are you talking about? Rieltar is the leader... this is not his doing?"

"He t-thinks... thinks this war is about iron! Bah!" Tazok laughed, ignoring the pain that his broken ribs must have caused. "Sarevok will use the war to ascend... he will be a god! His f-father is a fool. He does not see the p-power that his son commands."

"Sarevok..." the pieces finally fell together for Gorion, a chill entering his body. "He is a Bhaalspawn?"

Tazok nodded, a bloody grin crossing his face. Gorion considered his next words, then whispered harshly. "And Imoen? Does that madman have her as well?"

"I-I... I do not know." Tazok spat. "I was not given the order to find her."

Of course not... something so delicate, a matter pertaining to his siblings would only be handled by those absolutely closest to him. Gorion nodded, then grabbed Tazok by the head, looking deep into his eyes. "Last question, monster... what is the key to stopping this war? Why have the armies of the Gate been held back? How do I end this?!"

Tazok paused, and for a moment Gorion feared that his Domination spell was wearing off. Then, Tazok laughed, his voice fading as he coughed. "Y-you cannot... fool. You think that stopping the banditry, ending the iron crisis... you think that will halt his plans? Every important merchant in the Gate has been replaced with doppelgangers, driving the Iron Throne's competitors to ruin. All the Grand Dukes in Baldur's Gate who opposed the war have been killed or assassinated. The whole of the Gate has been placed under Sarevok's command... he cannot be stopped!"

The import of what Tazok said struck Gorion like a lightning bolt. If he spoke truth- and he could do no other under Gorion's spell- then all of Gorion's secondary plans, his contacts in the Gate to try and halt such a war once begun... they would be less than useless. Less than impotent. No wonder Sarevok's men had known his location and his whereabouts so often... he had been telling their agents himself. But if Sarevok had become so influential... why hadn't the war started? What was he waiting for?

The dying half-ogre could see the confusion in Gorion's face, and managed a few final words before expiring. "T-the coronation is today... Sarevok will be crowned Grand Duke... h-he will lead the armies of the Gate to war and the Sword Coast will burn. You h-have lost..."

Tazok's eyes widened as his breath ceased- he slumped back down, Gorion releasing the grip he held on the half-ogre, kneeling alone in the rubble of the bandit encampment. For all of his work, all of his efforts- he was too late. He didn't know who he could trust in the city of Baldur's Gate any longer... and if Sarevok took power today, there was nobody who could stop him. The war was inevitable.

The half-ogre was right. The Sword Coast... all of Faerun, would burn.

X X X X X X

High above the coronation ceremony, crowds gathered to celebrate their so-called savior from their enemies in Amn. Balconies filled with cheering throngs who were ready to accept the murdering swine below as their leader. Eyes narrowed underneath the cloak that concealed them, watching without blinking. He would only have one chance at this. One chance for vengeance. There... he was ascending the stairs that led to the podium where all could see him. His face was a mask, expressing a mixture of pride and compassion, tinged with determination towards the 'righteous' war he would wage against Amn. All a lie. Sarevok had taken what was most precious to him, and he would have his revenge.

Those around him remained blissfully unaware of his plan... just as well, had they known, most of the crowd would probably try to kill him themselves. So fanatically loyal to this charismatic newcomer. So driven that they remained unaware of his treachery. Just like... just like his sister. She'd remained unaware of Sarevok's nature until she met her end at his hands. He'd done his own reconnaissance. He knew what had happened. How she had been sent on a mission, alone, unaccompanied by any of the legions of Sarevok's men. How she just 'died' down in the Nashkel mines, with nary a word of compassion or remorse from the brute when he had arrived to demand answers from him. He'd simply spoken words that had none of the feeling or regret they were meant to express and sent him out, like a... a common peasant. Like one who didn't know the pain of her loss as clearly as anyone could possibly have known it.

Far above Sarevok as he prepared to give his Coronation speech, the Kara-Turan prepared to strike. Without warning, he leapt from the balcony, barely hearing the gasps behind him as he settled into empty space. Not quite- suspended from the balcony opposite his own and two stories down, was a rope, one that he could reach if he extended his hand... there. He grasped it, the force of his swing pushing him toward the wall where he planted his feet, pushed out and swung toward the rope suspending the giant stone carving of the Sword of Balduran that hung above Sarevok, still unaware of the acrobatics above him, even as those who had seen him leap were beginning to see what his plan might entail-

A knife glinted in his hand as he sliced the rope, already weakened by his preparations that were performed days in advance. The rope unraveled and began its descent- halting only briefly as one of the strands of the thick cord of rope held- only a second before it snapped as well.

Still, that second of hesitation had been too much. The sound of the rope snapping gave Sarevok pause, looking upward to see the mammoth structure halt its descent for a brief moment before hurtling downward toward him again. He threw himself aside with a growl, just narrowly avoiding being crushed. The would-be assassin watched from above, cursing as he saw the man's escape... that was it then. He had a chance of escaping with his life had the first trap worked, but there was no chance now, not with guards all shouting alarms and moving to protect the new Grand Duke. It had to end here.

He released his grip on the rope in mid-swing, letting himself richochet off another of the pillars that held up the balcony floors and head straight downward. The fall was severe, but enough for him to roll with the landing and come up with katana drawn as he charged toward Sarevok. Three guards stood between the murderer and him, one helping Sarevok up, the other two just now drawing steel to oppose him. He spun forward, sweeping his blade in a two handed drive that cut through the first guard's chest before he could fully bring his sword to bear. The second was in a better position, able to block his first slash, but his defense was too meager and too late. Two more blows left the man flustered, unsure of where to defend- his katana found an opening and the man's head rolled from his neck as blood stained his katana once more.

The third guard would be in no position to stop his charge- the assassin smiled as he drove straight for Sarevok, just now at his feet, fixing gazes with him- Sarevok hurled the guard beside him into his path, blocking his attack and sentencing the guard to the fate meant for him. He cursed, hurrying to bring his blade back to Sarevok, to finish the job- fire burned in his gut as he felt the mammoth blade Sarevok carried being shoved into his stomach. His grip on the katana hilt failed and he slid to the ground, clutching the gaping hole in his torso as blood began pooling around him.

Sarevok grunted in satisfaction as he knelt beside the dying man, pulling off his cloak- his eyes widened and for the first time in a while, his deep brown eyes registered surprise. "Yoshimo?"

"Y-you... you murdered her. Murdered my sister." Yoshimo spat, blood trickling from the side of his mouth as he glared at Sarevok, his eyes burning with hatred. "Y-your fault. S-she loved you and you had her killed for it..."

"I didn't kill her, fool." Sarevok growled, gripping Yoshimo by the front of his cloak. "I made that clear when you arrived previously."

"Doesn't matter. I k-know the truth." Yoshimo gurgled, his life fading quickly. "Y-you sent her. S-should have protected her. Your... your fault-"

He slumped down, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Sarevok paused, considering the dead man in his hands. He hadn't hated Yoshimo. Hadn't considered him an enemy- he had met the Kara-Turan a few times at Tamoko's request. The rogue had been likeable enough... but to blame him for Tamoko's death? To place that weight on his shoulders? He wouldn't... couldn't allow it. That would lead him to places he'd already abandoned. Places he'd shut himself from entering. Regret. Remorse. Weakness. And as much as he missed Tamoko... no. He wouldn't let this stand between him and his destiny. But... but even if his destiny led to the deaths of everyone he'd loved? Everyone who had loved him? It had led to Yoshimo's death, a man who had never done him any wrong. Had led to the deaths of so many other innocents.

For the first time in years, Sarevok was forced to ask himself the question that had haunted him, once upon a time. How far was he willing to take this? The entire population of Baldur's Gate was looking to him for leadership, just as he had intended. They would follow his command, whatever it was. He had the power to seize godhood... or to end it. To end the killing, the bloodshed. To end the deaths of those like Tamoko and Yoshimo.

The sound of guards rushing to his side, shouting in alarm- he stood, turning to face them. His choice. Godhood or redemption. He looked down at Yoshimo's body, and with every ounce of his willpower, made the only decision possible. "You... all of you, have witnessed a final attempt to cripple this great city, an attempt by the Shadow Thieves of Amn. If any of the citizens of this great city doubted the necessity of this conflict before, then let this man, this assassin, be your final proof. I shall lead the soldiers of Baldur's Gate through the land of Amn and conquer any who would stand in our way! We shall be triumphant; we shall be victorious! Let the cry go forth- we are at war!!"


	14. The Laughing Death

_"It's a slow fade when you give yourself away  
It's a slow fade when black and white are turned to gray"_

**Six Years Before Present Day.**

Absolute stillness. The only sound in the room that of nervous breathing... the smell of fear thick in the air. Dozens of men in black cloaks were all positioned around the single door that led inside their final bastion, the sanctum of their leader who, despite his reputation and despite all his efforts, was scant minutes away from being murdered. The Shadow Thieves, rather, those who still lived, had pulled back to their base of operations, making a last stand against their foes- foes who were, by all accounts and all experiences, more numerous and more powerful than they. It was really only a matter of time. A doomed effort, trying to hold this location. Even if they succeeded in driving their opponents back, they simply didn't have the manpower to retake any sort of territory or rebuild before another, lesser organization claimed what had once been the property of the Shadowmaster of Athkatla.

Why keep fighting then? It was a question that no doubt ran through the minds of each man and woman that watched and waited. There would be little if any gain in fighting this day. With Bodhi's guild overtaking the underworld of Athkatla, there would be few options for any former Shadow Thieves, unless they were willing to join her clan. The armies of Baldur's Gate were on the move, and would probably reach Athkatla within the week. Annihilation by vampire or by invader. Neither option presented anything resembling a fair shot at life. Again, why stay? Renal Bloodscalp, one of the men standing opposite the door with rapier in one hand and dirk in the other, thought about what Aran Linvail had said when asked. _"We're thieves, Bloodscalp. We always have been, always will be. But we understand the concept of honor, contrary to belief. The men understand it. We're going to die... but by Mask, we'll die fighting."_

Bloodscalp smiled grimly- and with that, the door crashed inwards and the killing began. Dark shapes that moved faster than any human swept into the room, pouncing on those who were too fast to bring blades to bear to shoot them from the air with aimed crossbows. The smell of blood filled the air as fangs sunk into necks and claws ripped flesh from the bone. The whole room was a flurry of death and devastation- that was before the pair of them entered the room. Before those who had turned the tide of the war on their own joined the fray. Bodhi laughed mockingly as a Shadow Thief spotted her and shouted a warning to the man she was striding up to from behind. He spun in place, eyes wide to see the leader of the vampire cabal, their hated enemy, less than a foot away. Bodhi hissed and stretched both of her hands out, grasping either side of his head and wrenching hard. A wet snap echoed and the thief fell to the ground while Bodhi leapt toward another target.

On the other side of the room, a similar blur pushed through the mass of bodies, picking and choosing her targets carefully. A Shadow Thief stumbled away from a vampire she had just gutted, then spun to see her slinking towards her. The Shadow Thief spat in disgust and charged, blade raised high and coming to carve her from hip to shoulder. Tragically, the woman was nowhere close to fast enough. Her target leapt back just enough to make the attack miss, then leapt forward with a glowing red short sword in her hand, plunging it into the Shadow Thief's breast in the blink of an eye. Imoen leaned in close, whispering quietly, "I'm sorry."

The whisper wasn't mocking; Imoen felt the twinge and the pain of guilt for every life she ended as she stepped through the maze of bodies, trying to avoid as many as possible as she made her way toward their primary target. The Bhaalspawn thief leapt between a pair who were engaged in mortal combat, coming up between them, only for another Shadow Thief to throw himself between her and the passageway that lead to Aran Linvail. Another thief, certainly not innocent by any means, but certainly undeserving of the brutal slaughter that was being visited upon them that night. The slaughter that Imoen laid down upon them.

By all rights, she shouldn't have even been able to do this kind of thing. At least, not as well as she was managing it. Imoen considered how it had come to this as she spun past a lunge for her midsection, swinging around with her blade to impale the man who had attacked her, jerking the blade as she felt it impact his spinal column. A year. A full year of training under the ministrations of Irenicus and Bodhi. The mage teaching her how to control the power inside her, how to unleash the magics she had left untouched for so long. Bodhi showing her how to fight, to go from wielding a weapon to becoming a weapon. Day after day, it had been nothing but fighting and training. Practicing the lessons that Irenicus showed her. Irenicus and his damned 'lessons,' day and night...

_"Pathetic." Irenicus sneered as Imoen tumbled backwards, rolling over the cold stone of his underground laboratory, in the room they had designated for their sessions. Imoen growled in anger as she tried to climb to her feet, widening her eyes as she saw Irenicus preparing another spell. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, tried to shield herself from the attack- once again the flurry of magic missiles broke through the burgeoning defenses she was attempting to conjure and sent her flying across the room, sprawled out in pain from the attack._

_"You cannot even shield yourself from the most basic of spells. Perhaps the potential within you is weaker than I had perceived." he curled his lip upward and casually lit a fireball in one palm, tossing it sidearm at her location. Imoen saw it and hurled herself out of the way, avoiding immolation though she could not help but cry out from the burns on her legs. "I'm trying!!"_

_"And failing utterly." Irenicus countered, his grotesque visage growing more and more disappointed with every failed attempt she made at using magic to protect herself from his attacks. He had explained the basics of magic and how to bend it to her will- then given her an hour. An hour to think on what he had spent half a day explaining before returning and starting this little game. An hour to try and master what it took most people all of their childhood and some of their adult years to learn. An hour to be something she wasn't... something she wasn't even sure she really wanted to be._

"Imoen! Take care of the one we want. I will remain here with my children- it has been some time since we have enjoyed such sport." Bodhi called out to the girl, breaking her from her memory. Imoen nodded wordlessly, inwardly cursing the sight of her hated 'ally.' Given a choice, she would have unleashed all of the spells she'd spent the past year learning on Bodhi and her cabal. She would've rained lightning and fire on the vampire's head and never stopped until there was nothing but ash and dust. Not that it was an option. The Geas she had sworn made sure of that. Xan had warned her. Had tried to make her see that there was no other way... but she'd been too weak. She'd been afraid. She didn't want to die, and thought that maybe, just maybe... she could get them both out alive. That she could find a happy ending in the midst of all the madness.

She'd been wrong, of course. Another Shadow Thief came for Imoen, the girl not seeing the upswing of his blade until it was inches from slicing into her-

_"You are a Bhaalspawn. A godchild whose potential dwarfs that of so many whom I have encountered in my life." Irenicus growled, his voice a hated whisper as he stood over the girl as she tried to drag herself to her feet once more, her body smoking from the impact of so many spells. "You could wield such power... why do you hold back? Why do you restrain yourself from your potential?! The path to magic comes from within- release your inhibitions, your fears. Let go!"_

_His palm flashed outward, and Imoen found herself flying across the room, her limp body bouncing off the stone wall as she collapsed to the ground in a bruised and beaten heap. She tried to look past the strands of her hair that obscured her vision, barely able to make out a disgusted Irenicus, shaking his head. "Worthless. Less than worthless." He summoned another fireball, taking no note or not caring that she was in no condition to dodge this one. "You can release yourself... or you can die."_

_A fireball arced toward her, Imoen's body screaming at her to move, but her muscles far too worn and tired to obey. She threw up her hands, all her fear and all her emotion plowing to the surface of her consciousness... and something else. Something behind all that. Something that Imoen got a brief glimpse of- scales, claws, and fangs- and she tasted the briefest glimpse, the tiniest ounce of its power. Her arms went up and a blue haze covered the air around her, shielding her from the fireball that impacted upon its ethereal surface. _

_Irenicus' mouth curled upward at the edges- it might've been a smile, or it might've been another sneer. Regardless, his head nodded almost imperceptibly, and it only served to worry Imoen even further as he spoke, as much to himself as to her. "I thought as much."_

Imoen's eyes glinted a deep black as a shimmer of light sent the blade coming for her ricocheting away; she came up with a fireball in her own hand, grabbing the Shadow Thief by the neck with the other. She leaned in with a grin, shaking her head. "Tsk tsk... excuse me, but I have to get by. If you could be a gentleman and clear me a path..."

She plunged the fireball into her enemy's gut and shoved him forward, the burning man knocking away any who were in the path from Imoen to the door that led deeper into the lair of the Shadow Master. Imoen watched the carnage for a moment, her smile growing- her eyes faded to their normal brown and she felt a cold shiver run down her back. It was getting far too easy to slip away... far too easy to release what Irenicus had found within her. She ran through the rapidly closing path she had made, trying to maintain focus.

It was surprisingly empty- the hall past the outer room where the fighting still raged was empty, and the door at the end was wide open, revealing a man at the far end of the dining hall, standing beside a bottle of wine, his back to the open portal. Imoen took a deep breath, trying to center herself as the man sipped the rest of the wine in his glass, set it down, then turned to face her with no hint of fear in his handsome features. "Well then... I suppose it was inevitable, wasn't it? We might've pushed the vampires back until you joined their ranks. I had wondered if you would show in this final clash. Do me the honor of facing me without your minions, will you?"

"They're not my minions." Imoen swallowed, trying to hide her fear, her apprehension as she raised her short sword. "Let's just do this quickly, alright?"

Aran Linvail regarded her silently for a moment, then discarded his green cloak and drew his long swords. "As you wish."

_Imoen sat cross-legged in a dark chamber, her eyes unable to pierce the shadows around her. Somewhere, in the darkness, Irenicus was watching. Observing. Prying into her mind as he dug for something... something that she desperately wanted to keep hidden and tucked away, even if she didn't know why. _

_"You have seen what is possible when you release the power within you." his voice made her cringe, but she listened, if only to learn how she could finally begin to understand her own magical abilities. She'd need them to free herself from him in the end, after all. "You cannot hold anything back when you shape the forces of magic; you must give your all, must let every fiber of your being go into wielding the ethereal forces. But it takes time... practice. Years to master the power, to do something so simple as what you demonstrated yesterday."_

_Years? Then how had she... so quickly? She'd only been studying for a matter of weeks. What was he getting at-_

_"You know it, even if you are too weak to say it aloud." Irenicus offered coldly. "It was not you- not alone, anyway- that brought such magical prowess forward. You had... help, of a sort. The blood that runs through your veins... it demands release. It demands to be used, demands a doorway to your consciousness. You have finally shown it one that it can use. I should thank you... I would have had to unleash your taint to remove your soul before this was all over; it appears you have done that for me."_

_"My taint? I... I don't want it." Imoen spoke, her voice quavering in the dark. "It's evil-"_

_"It is the key to unleashing the magics that I will teach you. You are not ready... not without the taint of Bhaal aiding you." Jon Irenicus' voice deepened as Imoen felt the power of the Geas she had sworn take hold. "Look inside yourself and tell me what you see. Look inside..."_

_Darkness. The night. No light, no warmth- wait. The moon, a single light in the void. The moon... now covered in a red haze. A red haze that covered everything in blood and gore. Fires, consuming everything in their path. It turned to a skull surrounded by drops of blood- something dark, something sinister, growing up out of the skull. A beast of darkest shadow and foulest intent. Scales, claws, fangs, spines. Everything she had gotten the barest glimpse of when pushed to her limits was slowly growing in focus, making itself known- something inside her was stirring, and it wanted to be let out. Needed to be let out-_

_"No!!" Imoen cried out as she wrenched herself away from the vision, forcing it out. That was not her and would never be her. Whatever that monster, that vision had been, she would have none of it. The Geas still played at the back of her mind, but it didn't force her down the path again, didn't make her venture back into the corners of her soul. _

_Irenicus' face was emotionless as he pulled away, having watched her internal battle with the power of his magics and the Geas she had sworn. He had seen what she had not; while she sat and tried not to hyperventilate, tried to calm her breathing as she pulled away from her soul-gazing, she did not realize that while gazing into what lay inside her soul... it had gazed back into her. It saw her reluctance. Saw her hatred for what it was... and began to adapt. Decided to become something new. Something seductive, something that she could stomach helping her, something that Imoen would gradually learn to love. A death that was just as ferocious and murderous as the beast that she denied, but altogether different. A Laughing Death._

Like a dance, the two moved in tandem with one another, each one the perfect opposite of their opponent as blades sang and bodies moved, a deadly ballet that could only end in cold oblivion for one of the two participants. Linvail's left hand reversed the grip he held on his sword and came across her side, hoping to catch her off guard in a moment of confusion- Imoen let herself drop underneath the attack and come up with her sword to parry the other blade. She wasn't going to be fast enough- she needed her magics. Imoen narrowly dodged another swing, carefully matching it again- but using her magics now, even as she exerted herself so vigorously in this combat could push her past the limits of what she could hold back. Past the limits of what she could control. Still, her options were becoming limited... and she had sworn to herself that she would avenge Xan. That she would make things right, make up for her failures. If she had to use a bit of her so-called power to do it, then so be it.

A flash of fire and light blinded Aran Linvail as Imoen's hands ignited a Sunfire, setting the room around them ablaze. It would have immolated Linvail as well if not for the ring he wore on his right hand for such attacks. Still, he returned his gaze to Imoen, noting with concern and curiosity the change in her temperament, the feral grin on her features and the relaxed nature of her posture. She'd been all business, all serious just a second ago. Even reluctant, if one looked hard enough. But now-

"You've changed, little girl." Aran remarked, flipping his sword back to its natural grip as he circled Imoen, the thief-mage flipping her sword back and forth in a frenzied parody of Aran himself. "There is more to you than meets the eye..."

"True enough, but you could say that about nearly everyone, right?" Imoen grinned as she leapt in, not even bothering to dodge the sword Aran moved to intercept- and with a spin, Imoen had grabbed Aran's left wrist in an iron grip and brought her short sword into his newly undefended side. She ignored his cry of pain as she spoke to the dying man, her voice far too cheery for the morbid embrace. "Take you fer instance, hmm? There's more to you I haven't seen, like your... rib cage! And your... heart! And your... liver!"

Imoen punctuated each organ name with a twist of her sword, her smile never faltering as blood showered her sword hand- she yanked it out and pushed the Shadowmaster to the floor, breathing heavily with satisfaction. For a moment, Imoen staggered backwards, blinking as she tried to bat away invisible flies or gnats- her eyes cleared again and she saw just what she had done. It had needed to be done... it was something she would have done herself, if she'd had the skill. But she didn't. She needed help, and the closest source was the... the thing that lived inside her. It looked like her. It talked like her. What worried her was how long it would be until that glimmer, that sly smile she saw in her own reflection every so often... how long until she couldn't tell herself apart from the girl she saw in the mirror?

X X X X X X

Gorion watched the smoke drift upward lazily, clouding the once blue skies with ashen gray, the landscape surrounding what had once been Trademeet choked with the smell of burning flesh and the bodies of the dead. An army, admittedly smaller than it had been upon first entering Amnish territory, but triumphant nonetheless. Amn's last great army had met the force from the Gate at the outskirts of Trademeet and done their best to push them back. Done their best to stop the rampage led by one Sarevok Anchev, the man who grew in power with every death that this war wrought. Their best, as it turned out, was not enough.

It was only now, when Amn seemed on the verge of destruction, that the Order of the Radiant Heart chose a side. Faced with total annihilation by the Soldiers of the Gate, they had chosen to aid the men of Athkatla, having received nothing but hostility when trying to broker some kind of peace between the sides. Still, their men were never meant to fight a war such as this... at most they could help evacuate towns and reinforce garrisons with their ranks. Not that it would make much difference in the end.

Gorion shook his head, turning away from the sight that he had been watching for several minutes. He turned back to this two companions, grimly regarding both of them as he headed over the hilltop to their three mounts, preparing to flee from their surveillance before one of the soldiers below spotted them. "Trademeet is gone. There is nothing we can do... and Sarevok still commands enough men to wipe Athkatla from the map with ease. It will be his next major target."

"What of the De'Arnise Lands?" Jaheira asked, gesturing toward the general direction of the Keep. "Taking it may slow them somewhat... perhaps even weaken their forces. Surely it will not stand against a siege of this size, but it may be enough of a buffer for the City of Coin to survive."

"I doubt Sarevok would commit to taking such a small fortress for little or no gain. I have yet to understand his motives for starting this war... it must have something to do with his heritage, his blood." Gorion muttered, speaking to himself as much as the other two. "I will look into Sarevok himself. The two of you should continue to gather our forces and subvert the army in any way you can. They must have time to prepare their defenses in Athkatla."

"Gorion... w-we all know that the H-harpers cannot exert enough influence to end this slaughter. Not as c-crippled as we are from within Baldur's Gate." Khalid noted quietly, watching as Gorion slowly, heavily, mounted one of the horses beside them.

"I know." the wizard replied quietly. "I begin to feel that the only one who could stop this war now would be Sarevok himself..."

He stopped speaking abruptly, then snapped the reins of his steed, bolting from his two old friends- he did not speak the thoughts that had continued onward in his head. _And perhaps my daughter. Wherever she is. Imoen's disappearance, her heritage, it is too connected with this madman, this Sarevok, to be mere coincidence. She has some role to play in all of this... I feel it in my heart. I must find her. I must, for her sake and mine own._

X X X X X X

Hard to believe... two years. Two years confined in this hellhole. Two years of captivity, one year behind a cage, the other under a Geas that stopped her from doing the thing she desired most, that being to end the life of a certain grotesque wizard and his vampire cohort. Thanks to Irenicus, she had the power to destroy him, if only she had the will to do so. If only she had the freedom. Granted, that magic wasn't completely her own... she needed help, now and again. Another present from Irenicus- unlocking the *other* power inside her... the power of her blood. She owed Irenicus a lot... a great debt that she had every intention of repaying.

Imoen glared out of the glass encasing that the rituals would take place within; after her destruction of the leadership of the Shadow Thieves, the rest of the city had fallen under siege by Sarevok's armies, finally arriving at the gates. The city above was in turmoil even now... but that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was escaping her captor; it was now or never. She barely heard Irenicus' words as Bodhi took her position, opposite her prison to receive the soul transfer that Irenicus would oversee with his magics and the deaths of so many men that she had helped him capture. She had a lot to atone for. A lot...

Irenicus' magics reached their apex, and with a flurry of light and wind, the life emptied out of each imprisoned man and woman that lined cages surrounding the ritual. With every death, Imoen felt her spirit being pulled, her soul slipping from the grasp that her body kept upon it. The only way. Only way to escape... she'd known it when she'd made the deal with Irenicus. Imoen could not suppress the urge to scream as the world went black and her soul was ripped from her.

Bodhi collapsed to her knees as the white mist faded into nothingness, indwelling her with the power of Bhaal. She clenched her fists and screamed as she looked upward, her eyes glowing bright yellow; Irenicus let himself relax, his mind and body exhausted from the transference rituals. It had worked... Bodhi was unconscious, still overcome by the new presence and power that was filling her undead body. How he looked forward to seeing her in action now, to seeing what the effect of the god-soul would do to her. He would experience the same soon enough; with the advent of Sarevok and his armies, he would proceed to hunt down the Bhaalspawn, and sooner or later the god-children would flee, come out into the open. It would be a simple matter to capture one then- so long as his lair remained hidden while the armies above conquered the city.

A flicker of motion caught his eye- Imoen was stirring already. He was surprised; she was hardier than he had given her credit for. Then again, he had never performed a soul transference before, so the results on both sides were new to him. He catalogued his observations for future interest, especially for when his own ritual would take place. He stalked over to Imoen, opening the glass door that kept her encased; she looked up at him from her knees, eyes red and tearing up. "You... you took-"

"Your soul." Irenicus replied calmly, gesturing towards Bodhi, the vampire, just now beginning to show signs of stirring as well. "You look shocked; you knew my motives when I agreed to train you here. As if this could have ever ended differently."

Imoen did not reply for a moment, then let the faintest hint of a smile show at the corners of her mouth. "Meh. I've got an idea... how about I kill you and her right now?"

Irenicus frowned- such impudence, still! He snarled and exerted the power of the Geas he held over her, watching in satisfaction as she collapsed to the ground again, clutching her head as she cried out in pain. "I have warned you about showing such disrespect, child. Remember whom you serve..."

He slowly let his hold over her relax... confusion crossed his features as she continued to writhe on the floor, screaming in the agony that the Geas was bringing her. He let his hold over her relax completely; suddenly unsure of what was happening- he wasn't causing this to happen to her. Was he?

Another howl of pain escaped Imoen's lips- she paused abruptly, looking up at Irenicus' face and seeing the uncertainty there. "What? Too over the top, huh? Thought so."

The girl bounded to her feet and was at Irenicus' throat before the mage could even consider uttering a spell to stop her. Imoen's short sword, so conveniently left with her during the rituals- after all, how could she possibly hurt him with the Geas in place?- was at the man's throat, the blade pressing just hard enough to draw a thin trickle of blood. Imoen let herself grin in vindication, satisfaction as she saw fear and bewilderment in her captor's eyes. She owed him... oh, how she owed him.

"Haven't put it together yet, eh? Let me make it easy for ya... you bound me to a Geas of loyalty. Pretty rough little ritual... trust me, I tried fighting it a few times." Imoen noted almost conversationally. "But you and yer plans... always about my soul, how you were going to steal it when the time was right. Got me thinking, at least. I'm surprised you didn't figure something out too- I mean, didn't ya ever think to consider that once my soul was gone, there'd be nothing for the Geas to bind to? That thought never crossed yer mind once? Heh. Cocky bastard."

Irenicus could not speak- not simply because of the blade at his throat, but because of the import of what she was saying. She was right. He had been complacent. Over the two years of her captivity with him, he'd placed too much trust in the power of his Geas- he let her carry her weapons and let his guard down around her. And for that hubris, that lack of respect to this intelligent and devious young woman... he would die. Jon Irenicus, once the greatest mage of the elven court, now the Shattered One who lived only for vengeance against his former kin, was going to die. All the years spent planning his revenge and his return to Suldenesselar would be for naught. How... unclimactic.

Bodhi stirred a second time, and Imoen glanced behind her, letting a broad smile cross her face as she pressed the blade she held harder into Irenicus' flesh. There was no need for the taint within her to guide these actions, to make her enjoy what she was about to do. He'd killed Xan, tortured her and made her do things that would haunt her forever. Bodhi was no better- she'd kill the vampire in just a moment and reclaim what was hers. But first... definitely Irenicus first. "You did a number on me, y'know that? Tried to make me a monster like you... not going to happen, ugly. You did teach me one thing, I s'pose. To survive, you need some power. Thanks to you, I know how to use mine. Nobody like you will ever use me again. That's a promise."

A jerk of the arm, and a streak of warm blood marred Imoen's face. Irenicus' body slumped to the floor, and despite the darkness around her, despite everything... the smallest of laughs escaped Imoen's lips.


	15. Those Left Behind

_"Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid  
When you give yourself away"_

**Six Years Before Present Day.**

War. That's what she was walking into, pure and simple. The screams of the dead and the dying filled the air around her, the smell of burning flesh and smoke choking her as she tried to find some sort of cover. An explosion sent rubble and debris hurtling through the air at what was almost certainly terminal velocity through Waukeen's Promenade; Imoen hunkered down for a moment, dodging a few pieces that might've taken her head off were she less observant.

After reclaiming her soul from Bodhi, it had been a simple matter to escape the catacombs of Irenicus' laboratory. The structure was not as big and expansive as it might've seemed when the mad wizard yet lived; escaping only took a bit of ingenuity. Of course, the fact that she and Xan had exhausted most of the other possibilities when they had tried to escape a year ago made her journey that much easier. Xan... the memory of the elven enchanter tugged at Imoen again, and she could only take the barest of comforts knowing that she had killed his murderer. She supposed it was survivor's guilt; that or guilt over her having pulled him into the whole mess in the first place.

A clattering of armor and the sound of armored footfalls swarming towards her broke any feelings of self-pity or remorse that she would have otherwise allowed herself to wallow in. In the back of her mind, Imoen knew she needed some time to herself, some time to grieve, to feel all the emotion she'd held back for so long, trying to stay strong under Irenicus' thumb... but not now. Now was still a time for action. And the first and most important action she needed to take was simply surviving. A rapidly dwindling contingent of Amnish soldiers was retreating from a horde of Gate soldiers, the city walls having been breached nearly a day prior. The retreating men saw their avenues of escape growing slim; as one, they turned and faced their pursuers, leveling spears and facing their impending death with the grit of true warriors.

Imoen watched with trepidation as the battle began; slowly but surely, the worn and outnumbered defenders would fall to superior force. Still, it wasn't too late... given enough force, enough aid, the Amnish men could conceivably survive. It wouldn't take much- Imoen stopped, reconsidering. Getting involved would be a mistake... she may have had enough power to help with this skirmish, but she couldn't turn the tide of this war. She didn't even know if the city had already fallen, if it was smoking and in ruins like the Promenade, or whether the other Districts had managed to hold off the invaders. No... no. She couldn't help. All she could hope for now was to survive.

She bolted from her hiding spot, staying behind piles of flaming rubble and broken houses as much as possible, constantly on the watch for soldiers or skirmishes that the city was embroiled in. Everywhere she went, all she could hear and see were the dead and dying. That wasn't the worst part of it, really... the worst part of it was the little voice inside her that laughed at the sights. The presence that wanted to take part in it, that wanted her to kill, to join the slaughter. It was that voice that made her try to keep moving, to push away all the emotion that bubbled to the surface, all the questions she'd have to ask herself, knowing she didn't have answers to give. At least, not answers she wanted to hear. She just had to get out, that's all. Had to get out of the city, find some place safe... Gorion! Or Khalid, or Jaheira. She needed to find one of them, to make sure they were safe, to let them know she was safe! She was supposed to meet up with her adopted family after investigating the Nashkel mines; having been gone for two years without a word, they surely thought she was dead-

The sound of an arrow whizzing from a bow buzzed through the air along with the sound of a woman's screams- Imoen craned her head to spy an elven girl, dressed in what had most likely once been cream colored robes but now were covered in dirt and blood, lying before a pair of Gate soldiers, an arrow sticking out of her arm. Beside her was a young half-elf, his smooth features covered in anger and helplessness as he clutched her, refusing to budge from her side as he tried to pull her to her feet, but to no avail. It was clear that they'd been running for too long, and could no longer escape their pursuers. The two men turned their attention to the defiant young man, sneering as one of them raised their blade, the other leering at the injured elf... so familiar... the Avariel! Wingless, dirty, and scared, but Imoen would swear that this elf was the Avariel she'd seen being pushed into slavery while traveling with Montaron and Xzar. The elf's scared face had been burned into her memory that day, and even the fury that came with remembering the betrayal she'd suffered at the hands of Montaron and Xzar paled when faced with this chance, an opportunity to redeem one of the many mistakes she'd made over the past few years.

A lot of people were going to die that day, but she'd be damned if she failed to save this elf again. A bolt of lightning sizzled across the alleyway and tore through the breastplate that the foremost soldier was wearing, leaving nothing but a smoking crater where his chest had been, bits of bone and gore hanging from the edges. He collapsed to his knees as the other guard gaped at the sight, only then noticing the girl who was vaulting towards him with a glowing red short sword in one hand. The couple she had saved didn't stop, didn't thank her or even say a word. The young man simply pulled her to her feet and they ran; Imoen didn't blame either of them one bit. Times like these, all you could do was look out for yourself and hope to stay alive. Not that it would stop Imoen from wishing them the best and helping out when she could- the promise she'd made to Irenicus, to never become a monster like him echoed in her mind, and Imoen couldn't help but take a bit of grim satisfaction as her sword cut through the second soldier's neck.

No sooner had the second corpse hit the ground before she spotted more soldiers and guards moving her way. Imoen hurriedly ducked away, slipping into the shadows as seamlessly as her training would allow. She wiped the blood from her sword and sheathed it again, mentally calculating where she could go to get out of the city, or at the very least, what would be the safest bet for avoiding notice by the hundreds of soldiers from the Gate who would treat her like any other Amnish civilian. The Temple District had both Amnish guards, Knights of the Radiant Heart, and Clerics of both Helm and Lathander defending it; if she could find a way in, it might give her the time she needed to find some way out of the city. Why not, after all? A little help from the gods would've proved right handy about now.

X X X X X X

A swing from the right, doubled up by two blades straight ahead and a mace from the left. Two of the attacks dodged, the others deflected and riposted with attacks that put the aggressors down permanently. Four others, barreling straight forward; four slices, and they were but more bodies that littered the steps leading into the High Hall of the Radiant Heart.

The Temple Districts' defenses, while stronger than many other district's, were still limited and in the end, had given way to superior numbers and force. The clerics had retreated to their temples, desperately hoping to keep the invaders from defiling the sanctums of their worship. The guard was scattered through the city, any organization having long ago been abandoned to simply try and survive. The Knights of the Radiant Heart... they were dead. They had been at the gate, ready to defend the city, second only to the city guard. Then, once the lines had been breached, they had been the first to try and rescue survivors, to seek out pockets of resistance and try and organize some way of getting them out of the city. They'd exhausted themselves upon the city, trying to be everywhere at once, scoring small victories but ultimately faltering in the face of so much pressure. As such, once the Temple District had been overrun, it was presumed that there would be none left to defend the Headquarters of the Order.

That presumption was false.

Standing guard on the steps of the High Hall, surrounded by nearly five dozen bodies, all bearing the marks and armor of the Gate, were three men. One clad in bright gold armor, a two handed sword clenched at attack position. His square jaw was tight, sweat pouring from his face. Prelate Wessaren, the leader of the Order in Athkatla, growled in defiance as another soldier rushed up the steps, trying to bring them down- he spun away from the strike and brought his blade across the man's back and cut him down.

A second attack, one man with a sword and shield, the other with a flail in hand. Their target was adorned in silver armor, carrying a long sword in one hand and a tower shield in the other; his eyes were piercing slits underneath the helm he wore, filled with holy fire as he blocked the flail heads with his shield, then ripped his sword across his other opponent's shield. The sword came in to his left; Sir Ryan Trawl stepped into the blow, letting the portion of the blade near the hilt strike rather than the body; it glanced off and he was open to swing his gauntleted hand, still clutching his sword, into his attacker's face. The man stumbled backwards and fell down the steps, leaving Trawl to focus his full attention of the other man. He turned in time to see the flail heads coming down towards him once again-

A large, rune covered blade intercepted the attack, the chains wrapping themselves around the sword. Sir Ryan took the opportunity to strike his defenseless opponent, nodding to Sir Keldorn Firecam in gratitude. The venerable paladin let himself smirk for a moment as he heard Ryan's war cry, moving to strike another attacker down; the man was as fierce as he was skilled, and it struck him as particularly interesting that the men they faced had not yet learned respect for his skill. Not that he or Prelate Wessaren had proven any easier targets. The Hallowed Redeemer, gift of Torm himself, had slain more men this day than he cared to think about. Still, between the three of them no enemy soldier had yet stepped one foot inside the High Hall. By the favor of the gods, it would remain that way.

From the crumbling walkways that provided passage over the river that ran through the Temple District, Imoen watched the skill of the three paladins with both admiration and fear. Admiration, not just at how well they fought or the skill with which they slew their enemies, but at who they were. What they represented. Imoen had never been the most 'lawful' girl out there; her choice of profession made that apparent enough. But like any other child, weaned on tales of knights and their heroic deeds, tales that were oh-so-plentiful in the books of Candlekeep, Imoen found herself, if only just slightly, starstruck by the paladins and the righteous fervor with which they defended their Order.

Admiration and fear. Admiration at the paladins and what they were doing, what they were accomplishing. Fear at what might befall them. Fear that they would fail- a sudden chill ran through her blood as a voice cried out above the din of battle and above the echoes of steel and iron. "ENOUGH!!"

That voice... something inside Imoen- no, not just something, she knew what it was- trembled with what was either excitement or fear. Then again, the two feelings might not have been mutually exclusive. She watched silently, hidden from sight as best she could manage as the armored monster of a man strode calmly toward the three men who safeguarded the steps of the Order Hall. From beneath his fearsome helmet, Sarevok eyed the paladins, taking their measure. "You three are indeed a sight. You might slay my whole army, were I foolish enough to let them continue their blind rush into your waiting blades."

"You have gone far enough, Sarevok." Prelate Wessaren announced, hefting his blade to a defensive position, at least for the moment. "You have conquered this city, such as it is. Leave this place, and take your fight elsewhere. Have you no respect for the Temples? For the gods?"

Sarevok threw his head back and laughed, unsheathing the Sword of Chaos as he, alone, stepped forward and faced the three paladins. "I fear neither god nor man, old fool. For I will soon leave the realm of men... and when I do, no god shall oppose my ascent."

"You are mad." Ryan Trawl whispered, even as Wessaren stepped forward, meeting Sarevok halfway up the stairs. "Very well then, monster. It shall be up to me to teach you the meaning of fear!"

Sarevok's grin grew ever wider as his sword came up to cut off Prelate Wessaren's attack midswing, parrying it left and thrusting upward with amazing speed. He was taken off-guard; moving backwards to avoid the strike, Sarevok pressed forward and with a mighty swing, the blade of the Prelate went flying from his hands. Sir Ryan Trawl moved to block for the Prelate; Sarevok dodged aside, using the Prelate as a human shield. Just as the man had anticipated, Trawl stiffened, pulling his blow before it struck the leader of the Order- Sarevok grabbed Wessaren by the shoulders and pushed him into Sir Trawl, waiting for the younger man to stop his mentor's fall. As soon as Wessaren stopped moving backwards, he plunged his sword into the Prelate's back, going through him and into Ryan Trawl as well. A kick pushed both bodies off the massive blade, and just like that, only one man stood between Sarevok and the Order Hall.

Keldorn's face betrayed none of the anger that coursed through him at the slaughter of his two comrades in arms; none of the shame at holding back, knowing that Sarevok would take advantage of their close proximity and probably slaughter all three of them if he joined the fight beside Wessaren and Trawl. None of it made the pain go away... only one thing would do that.

Sarevok laughed as he swung again, meaning to cut Keldorn in half- the Hallowed Redeemer stopped the blade cold, if just barely. Sarevok pulled back from the strike as Keldorn went on the offensive for a brief moment, a feint followed by a low sweep, forcing Sarevok to retreat a step.

Imoen watched the battle, her entire body consumed with uncertainty, torn between an overwhelming desire to flee- even if she didn't know why- and a second desire. An urge to do one and one thing only. To kill that man. To kill the massive warrior that dueled the lone remaining member of the Order. It wasn't a righteous fury, or a desire to see justice done... it was something else. The taint inside her, it called for his death so strongly... it was all she could do to keep herself from sight. Why?

"I will be the new Lord of Murder! You are nothing!!" Sarevok bellowed, using his strength to launch a massive downswing that knocked Keldorn to his knees, his trembling arms barely able to sustain the block that kept his head from being split open like a ripe melon.

"You deceive yourself, boy..." Keldorn whispered grimly, sweat pouring from his face as he felt his muscles slowly beginning to give under the weight of carrying the fight on alone. "I know what you are. You think to claim Bhaal's throne for your own? You underestimate those who would oppose you. Righteous men. Good men."

"You and your kin are worthless!" Sarevok screamed, attempting to kick out again, only for Keldorn to roll aside at the last moment, his blade coming down to carve a niche in the marble stairs, right beside where his armored boot landed. "Nobody shall stop my ascension; not my weaker siblings, and certainly not some misguided tool of the Church!"

Siblings- yes. Imoen finally understood... understood far more than she cared to, now. He was like her- and if the taint within him was anything like what lay within her, he would sense her blood so close. He obviously knew more about this power that their blood offered; all she knew was what Irenicus had told her, and if Sarevok's actions were anything to go by, she wasn't sure she wanted to see what else this blood would push her to. Another thought came to her; Irenicus had said that any Bhaalspawn in hiding would be flushed out by the armies of Sarevok- she'd simply assumed that he meant they would be refugees, simply trying to escape the coming storm like everyone else. What if... what if that was the whole reason? He said it himself... he wanted the Throne of Bhaal, and no Throne was built for two.

A shower of sparks came from the collision of the Hallowed Redeemer and the Sword of Chaos as Keldorn launched his own counterattack, pushing his body to its outer limits, expending all the energy he'd saved, all the willpower he had left in his tired body. For the first time since the battle began, Sarevok no longer looked comfortable or in control. He seemed stymied by the sudden burst of effort coming from the old paladin- he blocked left, retreated to avoid a right side swing, and only just avoided a thrust towards his midsection. Keldorn blinked a drop of sweat from his eyes as he continued his motions, not daring to give his younger adversary a chance to recover. One chance at this, one chance to end it all- he let his next parried swing lead into a spin, taking himself past Sarevok's counter thrust and swinging around to bring the blade of his sword to rest at the back of Sarevok's neck.

An audible gasp of shock could be heard echoing from the masses of Sarevok's army that had gathered to watch- Imoen felt both excitement and envy as she saw the possibility of Sarevok's defeat become so very real. Perhaps she wouldn't have anything to worry about running from another madman so soon after all. "Call them off, Sarevok." Keldorn said between breaths, doing his absolute best to keep his trembling arms from showing such weakness. "Right now- call them off, send them home. Do it and you keep your head."

Facing away from Keldorn, Sarevok's eyes were closed, his body tense and his sword pointing to the ground. He heard the words from the old man, who had, through a combination of incredible skill and his own hubris, brought him to this choice. Here, faced with death, he had to acknowledge what failure would mean. All his years spent training, preparing for his ascension, for nothing. The thousands of deaths during this war, for nothing. Tamoko's death, for nothing. His entire life... no. His life, Tamoko's life... they would not be for nothing. Sarevok's eyes opened, and for the very last time, his brown eyes faded to yellow. With speed no man should have been able to manage, the Bhaalspawn dipped underneath Keldorn's blade, avoiding the alarmed swing that would cut his head from his shoulders- then spun, his arms bringing the Sword of Chaos up to slice Keldorn open from hip to shoulder.

Imoen turned away, unable to watch any more. She could feel the power radiating, rolling off of Sarevok. If the three paladins couldn't stop her, there was no way she could stand a chance, even with the magics Irenicus had shown her. She needed to get out of the city, to find a way of escape before Sarevok found her. She needed allies to stand with her in case Sarevok's forces ever did catch up to her. She needed help... and thanks to her time with Bodhi and Irenicus, she knew exactly where she could find that help. The hard part would be convincing said help not to kill her, first.

Sarevok sneered with disdain at the cursing, spitting warrior- if he could even be called that- who had charged him upon his slaughter of the three warriors. He'd apparently thought very highly of the paladins and their Order, thought if the ease with which Sarevok had put him to the ground and disarmed him was any indication, it was no wonder why he was not counted among them. Still, as much fun as it had been to end the struggles of this little corner of the city, he had best keep moving. He could still sense the presence of others like him within the city- he could not afford to linger. Still, he would take a last, parting, shot at the young whelp who had dared try and fight him here. Sarevok's boot on his neck, all Anomen Delryn could do was gag and pull feebly to attempt to free himself- the big man leaned down, slamming his gauntlet into Anomen's face. Again. Again. And again. Looking to his men, Sarevok bellowed, "Let this one live. Let him live with the failure."

He stepped off of the broken young man, then turned back to the Order Hall. "Burn this place to the ground."

X X X X X X

Five robed and hooded figures sat around a table: two humans, a half-dragon, a fire giant, and a drow. The table they sat at was bronzed and shrouded in darkness, the symbol of Bhaal embedded in the center, burned into the metal of the table.

"Sarevok Anchev has become too powerful." the half-breed said adamantly, glancing about furtively. "We should have acted long before now."

"There is no reason to be concerned." a deep, booming voice echoed from the fire giant. "The fate of this fool has been sealed."

"But can we be so sure?" the drow's silky tone slipped through the room, drawing the attention of her comrades.

"This spawn of Bhaal is doomed." a final voice commanded, the monk's tone brooking no further discussion. "There is no escape."

X X X X X X

"You have got one hell of a nerve to come here."

That threat might've scared Imoen, once, made her back off a bit, especially since it was backed up by so many other blades, drawn and ready to terminate her with extreme prejudice. Not that the hatred wasn't deserved; she had killed many of their number herself. Imoen forced a shrug, fixing eyes with the former lieutenant of the Shadow Thieves, one Renal Bloodscalp. A few new scars adorned the rogue's features, courtesy of the final battle where she and Bodhi's cabal had ended the life of Aran Linvail. Many of the Thieves had fled, and without the Shadow Master to organize them, Imoen knew the remnants of the guild would retreat to one of their back-up strongholds. Of course, the whole reason she knew about these places was that when Bodhi was still alive, the two of them would have hunted them all down for sport. As it was, Imoen figured that it might be better for her to avoid that particular detail.

"Well? Anything to say for yourself? Should've figured that you and the vampires wouldn't take this invasion as a hint to leave us the hell alone. Come on then-" Bloodscalp snarled, moving to strike at Imoen, only for the girl to raise her hands, magical power sending Renal flying backwards into a crowd of the Thieves that still surrounded her.

"Looks like there's still a few hard feelings... believe me when I say that it wasn't nothing personal-" Imoen explained, leaping aside as Renal came off a push from his men and thrust his blade at her again. "Heh... yeah, definitely a bit of a grudge. If you could stop tryin to kill me for a bit, we might be able to have some kinda discussion."

"You hunted us like vermin, leading the undead into our homes, against our families!" Bloodscalp raged, swinging wildly as Imoen dodged each new attack, staying within the circle of hostile observers. "Do you think we're interested in anything you have to say?!"

"Well, I was kinda hoping..." Imoen yelped as a swing nearly took her head off- she ducked under it, letting the power of her taint flow as she sent Renal flying again with the magics she commanded. "Bodhi's dead. There, that good enough news for ya?"

Renal stumbled to his feet, wiping the side of his mouth with visible rage in his eyes... but he didn't attack right away. "What is that to us? Your master falls in this war, and you think you'll find shelter with us?"

"No... well, sort of." Imoen admitted, walking back and forth, ignoring the hostility from each direction. "Wasn't the Gate armies that killed her. I did the deed, little ol' Im herself. I know it won't make too much difference to ya now, but I didn't really want to do all that fighting and killing during the guild wars."

"You're right. It doesn't make one bit of difference." Renal growled. "Make your point quick, lass. We've little patience for enemies, new or old."

"My point is," Imoen inhaled- this would be the tricky part- "Is that I'm getting out of the city. I need some people to go with me... and since I know you're all looking for something to do since ya lost yer leader and all-"

"You're insane." Renal said through a trembling voice. "What makes you think any of us would follow you? The only reason we haven't killed you already-"

"Is that yer afraid." Imoen cut him off, feeling the confidence that she was desperately trying to feign slowly become real. "If you thought you could kill me, you'd have done it already. See, that army bangin' around outside won't leave this little club house alone for long. You can either stay here and die, or you can come with me. Not a difficult choice, really-"

"Enough!" Renal shouted, raising his blade to point at Imoen again. "I will give you until the count of three to leave this place. One."

"Yer making a mistake..." Imoen warned.

"Two-"

"Three, you insufferable simian." a ball of fire enveloped Renal Bloodscalp from behind, the Shadow Thief screaming in agony as he collapsed to the ground. A hush enveloped the crowd of Shadow Thieves, as the back line parted, revealing a red robed, thinly built man sporting a beard and multiple piercings. He looked at the burning man with a sneer, then bowed slightly to Imoen, his accent thick with each word. "That uneducated monkey had such an end coming for far too long. (I cannot believe someone had not done it sooner). I am Edwin Odesseiron, new leader of the Athkatla Shadow Thieves."

"That so?" Imoen said, exhaling deeply at the abrupt betrayal. "And... uh, why exactly should I care?"

"Because(she's obviously a slow one, best to keep things simple), while Bloodscalp might not have seen the potential in your employ, I have an eye for those who seem to draw power in their wake. You, girl, have that aura of power. To ignore an invitation by one who wields so much power when faced with death on all sides is folly. With so much lost already, I refuse to come out of this empty-handed."

Imoen frowned- surely he knew that she could hear him muttering under his breath? Not the point, she supposed- "That's one, I s'pose. What about the rest of y'all? Ya comin or do ya plan on taking your chances here?"

Whether it was through Renal's death, Imoen's non-chalant certainty of their impending doom, or Edwin's sudden siding with her, it seemed as though the will to resist her offer was slowly eroding. Within moments, Edwin leaned to Imoen and whispered, "Congratulations- it would appear you have control of your own miniature army."

Turning to the group and raising his voice, Edwin shouted, "Prepare to leave this place! We are escaping this city before it collapses atop us. Gather what you can and return here for further orders(ugh, these fools are hardly worth the effort)."

Even as they filed out, Imoen turned to Edwin and asked, "Not for nothing, but how'd you get them to follow so quick? I mean, you did just betray their old leader, and I'm the one who killed the Shadow Master..."

"They are little more than sheep, lambs who need a shepherd to guide them." Edwin scoffed, folding his arms. "Who else would they follow? (As if there were a better choice.) You offer them a figurehead, and I will motivate the sloths."

"Hey... I'm more than just a pretty face and a good sword." Imoen frowned. "Don't be gettin any ideas about betraying me too, y'know... I've had a little experience in that area."

"Is that so? (I should have expected as such from one so powerful and young, truly)" Edwin murmured. "And what experience might that have been?"

Imoen glared for a bit, then sighed and continued. "Two years ago... I got sold out by a pair named Montaron and Xzar. A halfling thief and a human wizard-"

Edwin laughed, wiping one eye as Imoen stopped, slowly losing patience with this wizard, no matter what help he might be. "What's so funny?"

"I know the pair you speak of." Edwin said, regaining his composure, a haughty tone to his words. "If a betrayal on my part concerns you, perhaps you would take the location of this pair as a sign of my undeserved and unwarranted charity? (A token that will be paid back in both gold and power, I trust...)"

It took Imoen a moment to realize what Edwin was offering her. She'd barely thought about Montaron and Xzar since her time with Irenicus. Not that she didn't want revenge, but she'd simply assumed that she'd never see them again. But... now wasn't the time. She needed to get out, to separate herself from the city and this army that Sarevok commanded... an army that she had to counter, even if she had no idea how. Now was not a time for going off on old grudges or nursing old wounds.

Still- Montaron's sneer was indelibly burned into her memory. Xzar's laugh, right beside it. Montaron's warnings about never trusting anyone... Xzar's ring, still in her pocket. She slid her hand inside and studied the small, twisted band... Irenicus had found the enchantment placed on it right away. It was obviously how the mage had found her in Nashkel so easily... had delivered her to Bodhi. To Irenicus. All because she'd trusted the two of them. So much pain, so much torture, all because she'd been so damned naive-

Edwin snorted, wondering if the girl was as deaf as she appeared to be dumb. "I said-"

Imoen turned to him, a shimmer of black in her pupils as she grinned darkly. "Why not? 'Old friends,' after all..."


	16. Countdown to Destruction

_"People never crumble in a day"_

**Five Years Before Present Day.**

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the darkness that had surrounded the town. One of the few unspoiled locations left in Amn after Sarevok's armies had devastated the country, Esmelteran was small enough, populated by halflings and far enough removed from the main cities that the armies of the Gate had yet to bring it to the ground as it had done with Athkatla, Crimmor, and Eshpurta. Most of the halflings that inhabited the city had already scurried indoors, hoping to get out of the coming storm, but there was one who was still trudging through the streets, heading for the larger house located at the far end of the main drive running through the town. It was big enough to accommodate tall-folk, a rarity in the town, such as it was. Still, the halfling who had been making his residence there had needed a location large enough to accommodate his partner, whose temper was ill-suited to hunching over all day and night.

Actually, the only reason the pair of them had stayed in this podunk town for so long was a mixture of necessity and work. Their employers had eventually pulled them off the task of researching who was pushing blame for the iron crisis onto them; once Sarevok had started his sweep over the lands of Amn, it was no longer much concern about who had started it or who was to blame... it was about staying out of the newly christened Duke's path. This, of course, led to the second reason that they were located in this place; working for their employers was all well and good, but they weren't above taking contracts for those who offered the right amount of money... and Sarevok's contracts were far too rich to pass up without a little bit of effort to capture.

Not that it would matter in a few minutes to the murderous halfling. He slipped inside the door, immediately scowling as he noted the lack of light in the dwelling. Xzar was a nutty one, that much was certain, just as liable to preen and croon over his partner as he was to try and use him as a guinea pig for his latest maniacal experiment, but blast it all, he usually kept the candles burning! He may have been a rogue, but that didn't mean he didn't care for a bit of illumination when he wasn't working. "Oy! Xzar, ye blasted half-wit! Where are you-"

"Xzar's a bit tied up at the moment... you'll have to settle for me, 'Monty.' Hope this isn't a bad time, hmm?"

That voice... Montaron's eyes narrowed, recognizing the playful tones in the dark, even after three years. It wasn't quite the same- there was an underlying sense of anger, a feeling that the cheer and sweetness that filled those tones was a front for something else. "Imoen? That you?"

"The one and only!" Imoen chuckled, her voice still echoing in the darkness as Montaron quietly unsheathed his blade, creeping further into the house, eyes furtively glancing this way and that as he tried to adjust to the lack of light. "Betcha weren't expecting to see me again... what's it been now, three, four years?"

"What do you want here, lass? Come back to exact a little revenge for us selling you out?" Montaron cut through her conversational cover, gritting his teeth. The girl couldn't have grown in power all that much over this period... but if she'd managed to overpower Xzar, that said something mighty good about her skills. "Come on out into the light and let's see it settled and done, then."

For a moment there was no reply, and Montaron stopped moving to listen carefully, expecting the girl to come hurtling out of the darkness with a knife clenched in one hand- the girlish lilt of her voice echoed all around as she chuckled; Montaron could see her shaking one finger in his mind's eye, lips pursed and the other hand on her hip. "What, do ya think I'm stupid? Beauty and brains, this one."

Her taunts were getting to the halfling- he spun in place, blinking as he tried to make out the distinct shapes in the dark, hoping to spy her before she grew tired of this game and made her move. "Looking in there? You won't find me. I'd say you should give the dining room a shot... but meh, what do I know?"

Montaron spat in disgust, considering her nonchalant suggestion. A trap, undoubtedly... or was she really there, counting on him not following her words as some kind of way to satisfy that blasted sense of humor? Unless she was anticipating- no. That line of logic never got anywhere; he steeled himself and crept toward the dining hall, his vision adjusted well enough to get there with a minimum of noise and time- he stepped through the doorway and blinked, noting a figure seated at the near end of the table, back to him. It wasn't Imoen... the figure wasn't right. The thought entered his head... "Xzar?"

"Tied up, remember?" Imoen's taunting voice echoed again, sounding much closer this time- enough for Montaron to spin again, looking desperately for his hunter. He needed some help- the mage, if he could just free him, wake him up, anything... he backed up to Xzar's limp form, watching for an ambush- after a few moments of relative safety, he turned and felt for the ropes, cut them as quick as he could manage, only for Xzar's body to fall from the chair to the floor. Montaron cursed, kneeling down to try and wake the man, still glancing around with each passing moment, looking for Imoen. His hand cradled the back of Xzar's neck, trying to prop his head up so Montaron could slap him awake- a sticky wetness covered the hand that was holding his neck... Montaron's blood chilled as he slowly managed to focus on Xzar's features... his eyes were wide and glassy, streaks of blood marring his tattoos, and a deep cut running from one side of his neck to the other.

"Whoops... forgot to mention that part, didn't I..." Imoen tsked. This time the voice was far too close to be mistaken for an echo, or anywhere else but in the same room with him. Montaron swore and stood up, holding his blade high as he turned, squinting as he searched, making out shapes in the darkness. A set of drawers... the stand with the extinguished candles... a figure was leaning against the stand, stock still, but undeniably there. Montaron lunged, assuming she would not be able to draw that bow of hers before he reached her- and he was right. If she had resorted to simple archery, he would have cut her heart out before she could have done anything to counter him.

As it was, the world strobed before him as light blazed from her hands, throwing his lunge off and sending him tumbling into the wall instead. Magic... that was Xzar's domain. He hadn't expected this kind of fight... Montaron cursed as he rubbed his eyes with one sleeve, trying to clear his vision before- too late. A swarm of Magic Missiles peppered him and sent him to the ground, his entire body throbbing with the impact of the spell. He stirred, reaching out to the pedestal beside him as he tried to pick himself up again, if only to make some kind of escape before he ended up like Xzar- the sound of an arrow being loosed from a bow was followed shortly by his own scream of pain as he felt the missile pierced his wrist and nailed his arm to the wall behind him.

The halfling's other hand was shaking far too badly to possess enough strength of pull the arrow out, and he was in far too much pain and shock to try and push himself off. For all intents and purposes he was stuck there- Imoen nodded in grim satisfaction as Montaron collapsed in pain, ceasing his struggles. She sauntered over from across the room, whispering a small word of magic as she lit the candles in the room, illuminating the ragged scowl of hatred that Montaron was shooting up to Imoen. He hadn't changed a bit since she'd seen him last- he was still dirty, angry, ugly. Still the murderous creature she'd traveled with before. How had she ever been so naive? How could she have been so stupid to have trusted this pair?

"So... you going to kill me like ye done Xzar?" Montaron spat at Imoen, the glob of liquid marring her black leather armor, equipment she'd appropriated from the Shadow Thieves before they'd abandoned the old guild hall in the Docks for a safer base of operations. "Never thought to see you so cold-blooded."

"I had help." Imoen countered quietly, glancing back at Xzar's corpse. She'd taken the mage by surprise... she hadn't meant to be so vicious. It was supposed to be a two-fold quest... getting a little payback for their betrayal, and at the same time, finding out why. But then, having Xzar there, unwilling to speak in more than insanities and meanderings about pointless drivel... she'd gotten angry. The memory of what he'd done to her, been responsible for putting her through and proven too strong... and she'd killed him without hesitation, tied up and all. Maybe it wasn't right. Maybe Gorion wouldn't have approved... but he had deserved it, and she wasn't going to feel remorse about someone who had caused her so much pain. "But you worry too much. As long as you keep talking, I'll keep talking. And so long as we're still talking, I won't feel the need to spill you all over the floor like I did with Xzar, right?"

"Pfeh." Montaron smiled nastily, contemplating reaching for his sword, but knowing the futility of the gesture already. No way he'd be able to reach it- even if he did, she wasn't stupid enough to stand close enough to where he could hit her. She'd learned a lot since they traveled together... "What be the point, girl? What do you want to hear me say? I'm sorry for what happened to you? Sorry that ye had a price on your head and we aimed to collect? If'n it makes you feel better, it wasn't anything personal. Just business. I gave you fair warning when we first met- you never trust anyone. Not your companions, not your friends... nobody. You didn't listen, and it came back to bite you."

The thief-mage listened, her throat tightening as she listened. The cavalier way with which he spoke, the complete indifference to the suffering she'd endured because of him and his damned lust for gold... she exhaled, trying to calm herself. He had been right, in a way. He had warned her. "Suppose an apology might've been asking a bit much, huh? Well then, answer me this. Why?"

"Huh? What do ye mean, why? What kind of idiot question is that?" Montaron scoffed, defiant to the end. "You think we turned you over because we could? You had a sum on your head, we put out to collect. Well, not ye in particular, but you and the kin like you. God-spawn of all shapes and sizes would have served just as well- just luck of the draw that you were the one we found. Like I said... t'was never personal."

It was as she had suspected, back in Athkatla... Sarevok was out to kill his siblings, herself included. The bounty was on the heads of all the Bhaalspawn, not just her. But that meant- "Were there others? Besides me? Did you sell out others like me?" Imoen demanded, drawing the enchanted blade she carried as she stepped closer, leaning in.

"A few." Montaron admitted, coughing as the flow of blood from his wrist began to take its toll upon him. "Not many left, to be fair. Other hunters were flocking in from east to west... those that the assassins didn't find were snatched up by the Gate's armies. You think he started this whole war over iron? Heh... nay, the Zhents kept track of what this whole business was about. It ain't ore... and they've sacked every city that there's even a rumor of Bhaalspawn hiding in. Not sure how long you've been free from that wizard we sold ye to... but Sarevok's not just hitting Amn now. He's hitting the towns of the Gate... he's turned all of the Sword Coast into a battlefield, and there ain't no sides to pick any more. He wants the blood of you and yer kin... that army o' his will be coming for you eventually."

He stopped, apparently running short of breath as he gazed up at Imoen's features, shaking his head. "What now then? Ye going to murder me like ye done Xzar, I assume... I've nothing more to say to ye, so go on and be done with it."

Murder... that word touched Imoen's anger and she responded without any pretense of carefree calm or cheer. "It's not murder to kill someone like you. Not after what you did to me."

Montaron eyed Imoen with a growing smile, laughing in derision. "Hah! Then yer just deceiving yourself, girl. Trust me- I've murdered my share of folk. What you done to Xzar there, trussing him up and slitting his throat... what else would ye call it? Face it lass, ye're little better than me and the corpse o'er there. At least we never pretended to be more than what we are-"

His mocking tones were too much for her dwindling self-control to handle- a blur of motion and the edge of Imoen's blade sung. A wash of blood ran down the front of the halfling as Imoen stepped away, trying to reconcile what she'd just done with the reasons she'd told herself. It had to be done. There was no way she could have let either of them live after she'd captured them, and they'd had it coming for some time now. Nobody would mourn their passing... self-defense, that's all it had been. Imoen swallowed any nagging doubts about the morality of killing the two men- it was unimportant now, regardless. The lives of two pieces of gutter trash paled in comparison to what Sarevok was doing, what he was after.

Imoen slipped out of the house, fading into the darkness of the night, slowly making her way out of the town and back to meet the man who had brought her there in the first place. Peering out from underneath his red hood, Edwin nodded in satisfaction as he spied Imoen trudging towards him in the slowly increasing rainfall of the storm. "So you return; I presume you meted out the vengeance you were seeking?"

"Something like that." Imoen smiled weakly underneath her hood. "We should get back to Spellhold; I don't think the Cowled Wizards we 'convinced' to join our little band are too enthralled with us. Leaving them alone for too long might give them ideas…"

"Bah!" Edwin sneered, turning and walking with her to the location of the transport ritual they'd summoned to teleport themselves from the island stronghold they'd claimed as their own in their escape from Athkatla. "Too many of their number died in Sarevok's invasion; they were nothing before our superior power(not that I couldn't have handled it on my own, but best to let her feel important.)"

"Speaking of Sarevok..." Imoen paused, considering what course of action to take. If nothing else, Montaron had confirmed her fears. Sarevok wasn't just out to fight some war over iron. He was after her, and others like her. The Bhaalspawn weren't safe... she wasn't safe. She wouldn't be as long as that madman was still alive. Neither would Gorion, or Khalid and Jaheira- it was his men that were threatening her family. His armies. The only way she could save them was to stop it at the source... and for that, she'd need more power than a handful of Cowled Wizards and some Shadow Thieves could offer. "Ya know that power you were talkin about when you decided to join up? How's second in command of an army sound?"

Edwin paused, the calculations and machinations of his mind turning and spinning as he tried to discern her purpose. "And for what purpose?"

Imoen grinned, wiping wet hair from her vision as the pair returned to the clearing where they'd summoned the portal to and from Spellhold. "Oh, you know. To kill Sarevok. Command over an army that destroyed the man who ravaged the Sword Coast- doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but ya gotta admit that it's got a certain kind of appeal-"

"Perhaps." Edwin nodded slowly, though his expression stayed carefully neutral. "We shall have to speak on this further. (She is not the kind to desire such power or fame... best to keep an eye on this sudden change of heart.) For the moment, be silent while I summon the magics to take us from this forsaken ruin."

Even as Edwin summoned their portal home, Imoen steeled herself. Edwin was right, in his muttering, murmuring way. She wasn't interested in power, or glory. All she wanted was to survive... and if that meant going on the offensive, so be it. She'd take the fight to Sarevok. She'd challenge him- and what's more, she'd win. "I can do this." she murmured, quietly enough that Edwin didn't hear her. "I can end this war. I can save them all-"

_"No. You can't... but we can."_

Her own tones, still playful, carefree and barely showing that hint of malice and cruelty underneath, rung in Imoen's mind. Shaken, Imoen didn't respond, in voice or in her head... she didn't have to. That voice was right. She couldn't do it without the presence, the taint within her. Maybe it wasn't what Gorion would have wanted for her... but if she could save him, then caution be damned, she'd use everything at her disposal, taint and all. The sound of the portal to Spellhold erupting into existence broke her from her thoughts, and Imoen followed behind Edwin as he stepped in, leaving behind nothing to mark that they had ever been there... nothing but two corpses.

X X X X X X

**Four Years Before Present Day.**

The ground shook, vibrating with each footfall of the two men that approached. As though the footsteps of gods themselves... or at least, two men who aimed to fashion themselves into deities. On the one hand, a fire giant, towering over the field of combat, steam erupting with each rain drop that hit his skin. His footprints were deep and burned into the loamy soil of the Windspear Hills. His armies were positioned behind him, left behind in preparation for single combat with his kin. Not that his opponent could harm him in any way, shape or form. His preparations made so many years before had seen to that. No... Yaga-Shura was invulnerable, and challenging the fire giant to single combat would prove to be the greatest mistake that Sarevok Anchev would make. His last mistake, for that matter.

Opposing the giant stood a mammoth of a man in his own right, Sarevok clutching the Sword of Chaos in one hand, a closed bag in the other. His golden eyes were unblinking as he watched Yaga-Shura approach their arena of sorts. The rain poured off his bladed armor, his face obscured beneath the frightening death's head helmet he wore. Gone were any pretenses of loyalty to Baldur's Gate, or any overt hostility towards the Amnish nations- once he had sacked the greatest cities in Amn, he had turned his fury on the Gate. Both Baldur's Gate and Athkatla lay in ruin now... only a few of his men had balked at turning on their own country, and they had been weeded out quickly. The others had fallen victim to the spell of Sarevok- he was a force of nature in combat, a beast that could not be contained. That did not mean, however, that he was any less skilled at winning the battle for men's loyalty.

He had told his army of the plans he had to become the new Lord of Murder, shown them the powers he had attained with such little time- the powers that his massacre had brought to him. With each battle, with each death in Sarevok's name, his power would grow. With each Bhaalspawn he hunted down, the essence of Bhaal would collect within those who remained. Thanks to the war, he had an advantage over the others, and as he had assumed, they saw what his machinations had wrought and were quickly moving to stop him. One had attempted to claim him already... the mongrel half-breed had paid for his arrogance and another portion of the essence of Bhaal had been given to those who yet remained. Yaga-Shura bellowed a laugh as he hefted his war hammer, taking Sarevok's measure. "We meet at last, brother... I had feared for a time that you would see the folly of your decision and run from the might of Yaga-Shura!"

"Run? Hardly." Sarevok scoffed, sneering at his sibling. He tossed the bag between them, the bag opening wide and letting its contents roll across the field and come to a rest at Yaga-Shura's feet. The severed head of Abazigal's son Draconis, eyes glassy and tongue swollen and hanging from the side of the mouth, stared up at the fire giant. "His father was even weaker than he. It matters not, half-dragon or fire giant... I will kill any who stand in the way of my ascension."

Yaga-Shura regarded it for a moment, then crushed it into the ground with one mighty stomp, throwing his head back and shouting to the heavens. "Do you think that the death of that fool intimidates me?! Yaga-Shura will become a GOD! You are nothing!" he raised his war hammer and pitched forward, ending any further taunts or bluster before the battle began.

Yaga-Shura charged with his war hammer high, scarcely bothering to defend his chest or vital organs, confident in the ritual magics that had protected him for so long. His only armor was a set of plate mail... plate mail that could be cut through with a blade of sufficient strength and power. The Sword of Chaos would have little problem finding its way to the man beneath the metal; Sarevok grinned as he pictured the shock, the betrayal on Yaga-Shura's face when he discovered that his vaunted invulnerability was gone, stripped away with no sign or clue to the giant. The old witch in the Forest of Mir had been quite helpful- he hadn't been forced to torture her for more than a week before she told his wizards how to weaken Yaga-Shura. The fire giant had no idea what was about to happen to him...

In the woods surrounding the hill where Yaga-Shura and his opponent had decided to meet for their battle, the armies of Yaga-Shura waited with anticipation of their master's victory. There was no sense expecting anything else, after all. Any sense of fear they might have had was long since gone; their master was almost a god as it was, absorbing the rest of Bhaal's essence was barely a formality at this point. A bellow echoed across the hillside, the familiar tones of their master... but this wasn't a shout of triumph. Not a cry of bloodlust. Not the same bellow that had signaled their master's victory as had been heard so many times prior. It was a sound of... pain? It was followed by another scream, this time cut off in mid-cry.

For a moment, all was silent. Soon, murmurs, whispers began spreading through the masses. Swallowed worries, hasty denials, half-believed reassurances. All of them were quick to come up, to try and quell the growing sense of uncertainty that was coming. There was no reason to be afraid. Not while their master yet lived.

Overlooking the army of his dead adversary, Sarevok regarded them for a moment before turning to return to his own forces, preparing to lead them over the hill and crush those fools below. Their master was gone, his power spread among those of Bhaal's blood that yet lived. He would lead his own army through their midst and teach them the meaning of fear. They would look to him and cry for mercy... and Sarevok, the coming Lord of Murder, would grant none.

X X X X X X

**Three Years Before Present Day.**

"You've heard our offer... what say you, child? Surely you don't think we can end this any other way."

Imoen had to admit... it was a tempting sales pitch. Really tempting, to be honest. In fact, maybe a few months ago she'd have gone ahead and said yes. Up until a few months ago, Imoen had managed to maintain a veil of secrecy over her actions; secluded on the island of Brynnlaw, using ritual magics to transport herself off and on the island, she'd made her way across the lands of Amn and Baldur's Gate. Information, that's what she wanted more than anything. An idea of just what kind of battle she'd be facing.

She needed information about the other armies that were rapidly surfacing, moving to battle Sarevok's forces. Not that there was much to tell about those skirmishes; it was apparent that the armies commanded by the other Bhaalspawn weren't ready. They had needed more time, more preparation before they could match Sarevok in power or numbers. Sarevok had forced their hands, moving so quickly. When multiple armies would move to face him, Sarevok didn't waste the lives of his men or hope for a miracle in battle; he retreated, waiting for a time when he could choose the field of combat, where he would have the advantage. Time and time again he demonstrated his superior tactics and continued to whittle away the armies that sought him and his soldiers out.

Still, up until a few months prior, there remained hope. Hope that the Five, then Four, who sought Sarevok could claim victory over him. Now, there were Three. Two of whom stood before Imoen now, arms folded, awaiting her response. It had only been a matter of time, Imoen mused quietly. Aside from spying on the deeds and actions of her enemies, Imoen had been increasing the might of her erstwhile army, through whatever means she could muster. She traveled from town to town, visiting every city that had been ravaged by Sarevok's forces over the past two years. Many survivors leapt at the chance for some payback. Others needed the promise of gold or power like Edwin, who to Imoen's slight surprise, remained with her still. Regardless of cost, anywhere Sarevok had wrought strife, Imoen was close behind, picking up the pieces and adding them to her forces.

She'd been careful. She'd made certain to wait until the entirety of Sarevok's forces moved on before coming and searching for those she could recruit to herself. It was almost impossible for the man to know what she was doing… but it was entirely possible that someone else was watching. Spying. And sure enough, a few weeks after hearing of the fire giant's demise at the hands of Sarevok, Imoen had received word from the others. Word that they knew what she was doing. That they knew of her own build-up of force, and that they wanted to meet.

It actually took a good bit of consideration before Imoen decided to meet the others. It was entirely possible that she was being led into a trap… and for all intents and purposes, it was one. Three women had met her in this elven grove, surrounded by stone heads and elven magic. One was a drow with piercing red eyes- an indomitable will that spoke to how much influence she had- and needed to have- in order to sway the armies of the Underdark to follow her.

The second was a raven-haired beauty, clad in light leathers and form fitting garments. Her every move was like water, fluid and graceful. She carried a long bow on her back and a scimitar at her side, though the real danger could be seen in the darkness of her smile. Her beauty was a cover, a mask for the lethal killer that lurked within.

Imoen chose not to make any self-comparisons, focusing on the third woman. She had spoken for the three- her words were gentle, convincing, persuasive. She carried no blade, wore no armor- she looked to be little more than a noblewoman, but if one was to be judged by the company they kept, she was no ordinary woman. What was it she'd called herself? A protector of the Bhaalspawn? That's right… honestly, Imoen had only been listening for the first half of the speech that had been sent her way.

Her time had been better spent looking for any sign of back-up forces, or extra threats lurking in the woods around them. After all, there was no way this could end peacefully.

"You seem to be uncertain of our intentions, Imoen." Mellissan spoke, letting her voice slide down to that vaguely condescending- perhaps it was meant to be comforting- tone. "Believe me when I say that none of us have any intention of harming you. We simply want to survive-"

"Right, right, I got that part." Imoen cut her off, nodding with a wave of the hand as she chewed on her lower lip. "You're all about watching out for the god-spawn, going around, helping who you can… after Sarevok made it his life's mission to hunt us all down, you went ahead and organized 'The Five,' better call that 'The Three,' now, heh- but anyways, you were going to have the Five kill Sarevok so that the other Bhaalspawn would survive, and now that you've lost two of your groupies, you want me to join up. Is that about right?"

"I would refrain from making light of this situation, girl." The drow spoke, her tones hard and forceful, enough to make Imoen wish they were directed anywhere but her. To her credit, she did not flinch, even as her Sendai's gaze continued to bore into her. "Sarevok is a madman and will kill us all if we do not stop him soon. Of all the godspawn we sought out, only you had the presence, the power worth approaching."

"Not just the power running through your veins…" Illasera spoke, arching a pencil thin eyebrow as she stalked closer, looking down at Imoen from her impressive height. "You've even been building a little army of your own… nowhere near as powerful as Sarevok's, or even the ones Sendai and I command, but joined with ours, we might still have a chance at ending this."

Imoen gazed into Illasera's eyes, then Sendai's. Three months ago she would've said yes. Three months ago it would have made sense to do this. Because three months ago Yaga-Shura had been alive. Three months ago Sarevok hadn't brought down a giant that was rumored to be unkillable. Three months ago Imoen's paltry army, even if it could have been called that, wouldn't have made one bit of difference. Now? Now… all Imoen and her forces would be used for was cannon fodder. And quite frankly, Imoen was sick and tired of people using her. Xzar and Montaron had used her. Irenicus and Bodhi had used her. Now Mellissan was trying to take advantage of naïve, innocent little Imoen.

"Well, ya got quite the pitch, I won't deny it." Imoen said, chuckling quietly. "But I think I'm going to go with a big no here. You won't let me out of here alive if I refuse… but if I say yes, I'm either fodder to wear down tall, dark and gruesome, or I'm signed on with a group who's so incompetent that they couldn't kill Sarevok when they outnumbered him five armies to one. Either way, I'm kind of screwed if I sign that dotted line, ya see?"

Sendai's eyes flashed with outrage as Imoen grinned, shaking her head and rubbing her chin in mock consideration. "Nope. Don't think so. But like I said, yer probably fixin to kill me right now. One less Bhaalspawn, right?"

She was rewarded with the blur of Illasera drawing an arrow from her bow and bringing it to full draw in the blink of an eye; it was a pretty safe bet to say that Imoen's prediction was right. "Damn. You are fast." Imoen nodded to Illasera, then turned to Mellissan and Sendai. "Isn't she fast? Sure wish I'd thought to bring someone along who could… I dunno, even the odds a bit-"

The sound of a trigger word preceded the flash of a Contingency spell activating; in the forest behind Imoen, Edwin was unleashing the magics that he and Imoen had prepared. Imoen grinned, relishing the look of surprise filling the faces of her three opponents. Granted, they had good reason. For Edwin to have snuck up on their meeting without any of the three spotting him was a miracle in itself… especially since there was no way that little, innocent Imoen would have thought to do something so duplicitous. They'd even kept their word about not bringing along part of their armies as backup, though that may have been the power of the elven grove at work; after all, one didn't just march drow soldiers into elven territory without expecting some kind of… resistance.

That was all a moot point though. What mattered was the one arrow Illasera would get off before Edwin's spell hit her- a Stoneskin rushed to cover her body and protect her from harm as the arrow shattered upon impact, moments before Illasera's movements slowed to a crawl. Imoen only dwelled on the irony for a brief moment before sweeping her own bow from her shoulders and nocking an arrow- Edwin could already be heard beginning another spell as he stalked through the trees and into sight behind Imoen. Watching Imoen loose the arrow, Illasera the Quick found herself moving through mud and water as she tried to dodge- no such luck. The arrow pierced her forehead, and Imoen nodded in satisfaction as the Bhaalspawn collapsed to the ground. It had taken a while, but practice made perfect… and if she'd learned anything from her time adventuring, it was that nobody ever shrugged off an arrow to the head.

Sendai was already on the move, fire blazing from one hand, a mace in the other. The blast of flame sent steam hissing from the wet forest around them, Edwin abandoning his spell to raise a shield for himself, Imoen diving away in order to avoid being immolated in the blast. She glanced up, wiping away dirt and grass from her face. Sendai was stalking towards her, keeping her mace low and at guard as she approached. Edwin winced as he pushed away the final remnants of the fireball that had been thrown his way, sneering with disdain at the woman who had attacked him. "Ignoring me in place of the child. A foolish mistake, to say the least."

Multiple arrows of flame and acid erupted from Edwin's hands; Sendai snarled a curse in drow as she called to Lolth for protection. Her clerical magics nullified each attack- Imoen's sword thrust barely missed, parried by a hasty downswing from Sendai's mace. Hasty it may have been, but the divine strength Sendai had summoned was more than enough to knock Imoen backwards, sending her rolling in surprise. She was good… if they hadn't taken Illasera out quickly, given her time to make full use of her incredible speed, this battle might well have proven impossible. As it was, Imoen felt the taint within her seething with fury at the blow Sendai had dealt her, begging to be released… and with only the slightest tinge of hesitation, Imoen let it take control.

Sendai turned to Edwin, looking at the mage with fury as he prepared another barrage of spells; she twisted the onyx ring that was around one of her fingers, shooting Edwin a look of triumph as she slipped through time and space, a dimension door cracking open beside her and providing her an escape.

Edwin paused for a brief moment, holding a crackling surge of lightning in one hand as he spun from side to side, looking for any sign of their opponent- Sendai came barreling out of thin air, her mace lifted high and swinging madly as a dimension door opened a few feet behind the Red Wizard. Edwin tried to turn and counter her, but the drow was too close, too quick. Her mace slammed into his side, sending Edwin sprawling to the side. The sound of broken bones echoed through the clearing as he collapsed, the magics he had been holding fizzling within his grasp.

Sendai took a brief moment to regard the fallen man- there was no way he would be getting up on his own for some time. He'd be no trouble. "Forget about somebody? Tsk tsk… you're gonna make me feel neglected."

Sendai reacted on pure instinct, activating a Mirror Image and sending copies of herself flitting in all directions, hoping to confuse her attacker- Imoen only grinned as she leapt through the images, her blade whipping this way and that, cutting down copies as she made her way through the crowd, inexorably heading toward the original. Sendai called upon Lolth once more, this time summoning dark fire to rain down upon Imoen's head.

Imoen was too far out- she wouldn't be able to reach Sendai in time to disrupt the spell. No… she'd settle for the next best thing. Imoen leapt as far as she was able, coming down a foot or so shy of the drow… but rolling to collide with her feet, guaranteed that the blast of flame Sendai had summoned would rain down upon the two of them.

She realized Imoen's plan immediately and raised her hand to the sky and absorbed the magical flame, hissing with the painful effort, trying to ignore Imoen's laughter as the thief-mage tried to raise herself onto one arm to cut Sendai's legs out from under her. Another twist of the ring and Sendai was gone again.

Imoen was still chuckling as she climbed to her feet, standing completely still as she waited for her opponent to show herself. Another endless spell of waiting- the sky above thundered with purple flashes, and Imoen's head craned up to see an Unholy Blight descending upon her.

Sendai emerged from the darkness behind Imoen, looking in triumph at the smoking form of the girl, lying on the ground, taken completely by surprise. Sendai had seen it a dozen times over- the power of an Unholy Blight would destroy the will, the body of the strongest paladin. The only reason she didn't assume Imoen was already dead was the fact that her body yet remained on the mortal plane. Still, she took a particular pleasure in finishing off siblings; she would enjoy crushing the girl's skull before she absorbed her share of the taint. She stalked closer, preparing to deliver the coup de grace- Imoen burst from the ground, coming up with her blade as she plunged it straight into Sendai's chest, laughing all the while.

Sendai's eyes were wide, filled with shock as Imoen twisted the blade, still laughing as blood began trickling from the drow's mouth. "H-how…?"

"You'n everyone else… you all think I'm just so good, so noble." Imoen sighed in exasperation as she yanked the hilt of her sword back and forth, blood splattering over her hands and running down the front of both their shirts. "That spell of yours would've done wonders on Imoen. Thankfully, she's not the one in control right now… and I'm anything but good."

Imoen's eyes flashed black and her smile widened as Sendai lost her voice, eyes rolling back into her head as Imoen pushed her off the blade, fading into golden sparks of light and energy, the Bhaal taint tearing from her mortal shell and gathering into the nearest vessel for its power. Imoen gasped as she felt the essence of Bhaal she carried within her grow, the power of Sendai filling her from head to toe.

Eyes blinking, Imoen's vision began to refocus, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground between her hands as she knelt there. Her hands were covered in blood- so was her sword. Imoen glanced to see the robes and armaments of both Sendai and Illasera lying unoccupied nearby. So… she'd killed Sendai, hadn't she? Mellissan, too? She didn't know… it was hazy, but she could just make it out in her mind's eye. The taint- she'd let it take over again, and just like always, letting it have complete control pushed her presence away, barely conscious for the deeds that her other half performed. Not something she relished, but if it had to be done-

A groan of pain from Edwin got Imoen's attention; her eyes widened as she rushed to the Red Wizard's side, looking down at his injured side with concern as he wheezed for breath, struggling to hold back the debilitating pain. "Edwin… we've got to get you out of this place, back to Spellhold. Can you stand?"

Edwin's only reply was a groan of pain as she tried to bring him to a seated position; a flicker of motion caught her attention as she whirled to face any new attacker- Mellissan stood at the edges of the trees, face blank and unexpressive. After a half-second, she tottered forward and fell to the ground, four arrows lodged in her back. Behind her stood several elves, clad in green splint mail, bows in hand. One of them stepped forward; he was wearing a golden helm, blonde hair trickling out from beneath the ornate armor. His green eyes narrowed as he looked upon the bloodied pair, remaining at distance, he called out. "You are walking on sacred ground. I am Elhan, protector of Suldenesselar. You have trespassed upon elven lands; we will not tolerate interlopers during such perilous times."

"We don't have time for this!" Imoen called back, gesturing towards Edwin with urgency. "My friend is hurt, he needs help-"

"He would not need aid had he respected the boundaries of the wood." The elf warrior cut her off, gesturing to the body of Mellissan lying before him. "This one was fleeing your battle; we confronted her and demanded she accompany us back to you. She refused and tried to strike us with dark magics. Three of our number fell to her power before we brought her down; surely you will not attempt something similar?"

"All we want is to get out of here." Imoen insisted, slowly helping Edwin rise to his feet, the Red Wizard's side stained red as he leaned on Imoen's shoulder. "We were told to come here by that woman you shot; if yer looking for someone to blame, then you already got her."

Elhan gazed at Imoen for a moment, as though deciding whether or not to trust her- his eyes softened, if only a bit. "Very well. My men will escort you to the borders of the grove, and you will leave this place and never return. If you are spotted trespassing on elven territory again, you will meet the same fate as this one."

She nodded in acceptance, letting a small smile cross her face. "Fair's fair. Just let me get Edwin moving here, and we'll be out of yer hair soon enough."

Imoen grunted with effort as she lent her full weight to supporting Edwin- she leaned in and whispered, "C'mon Edwin- I'm gonna need yer sense of persuasion soon enough. Sarevok's got two less annoyances to keep his attention, and besides that, there might be two leaderless armies up for grabs in a few days…"

X X X X X X

_G-_

_The days we tried so hard to prevent have come at last. The prophecies of Alaundo have come to pass, and for all our efforts, it would appear that the Bhaalspawn have made the Sword Coast run red with the blood of their victims. Sarevok's armies were seen marching north, moving towards Saradush. Word spread of Bhaalspawn hoping to use the city as a refuge of sorts. I'm not certain who organized the attempt, but it was for naught. Anyone who is caught in the city by this time next week will be under siege._

_We have done all that we can to try and prevent this from happening, but it is of no use now. All we can hope for is that the wars of these Bhaalspawn resolve themselves quickly. Of the Five that I have observed, Two were killed by Sarevok, and another two are reported dead- and this is why I wrote, my friend- they were killed by someone else. Another Bhaalspawn… one whom I have little information about, least of all his or her identity. I attempted to scry into the grove where the deaths took place, but the wards were too powerful. All I could feel was death. Laughing, and death. _

_I fear that this will get worse before it gets better, old friend. I've called upon our agents that yet remain to try and evacuate the towns that Sarevok is bearing down on. We may not be able to stop this slaughter at the source, but we can still save lives. That's why we're here, after all. And to answer the question in your last letter… I fear I have heard nothing of her whereabouts. I'm sorry._

_E-_

Gorion lowered the letter he had received from his old friend, reflecting upon his next move in the flickering candlelight of the small hovel he was staying in for the night. He'd be on the move again in the morning, for all the good it would do him. His attempts at stopping Sarevok had proven useless. He'd heard nothing about his daughter or her possible whereabouts. Things were rapidly slipping from his grasp, if not completely gone already. And now a new player… a 'Laughing Death,' going by Elminster's description.

Gorion tried to keep his hands from shaking as he fed the letter to the candle flame, watching the parchment burn. He was right. Things would get much worse before they got better.


	17. Deadly Symmetry

_"Families never crumble in a day"_

**Two Years Before Present Day.**

"Here... this will be the staging ground for our ascension." Edwin's voice contained a certain sense of smugness as he pointed on the map of the lands surrounding Baldur's Gate. Not that his voice didn't always have that particular tone of self-assuredness and confidence, but it was particularly evident this day. Imoen couldn't quite suppress her curiosity as she gazed at the map in the dimly lit room where she, Edwin, and their top spy in the ranks of the Shadow Thieves prepared for their first strike against Sarevok's armies.

"Looks... looks like the Friendly Arm Inn." Imoen said with a hint of hesitation. "Are you sure?"

_"Positive." Gorion nodded, fixing the gaze of Jaheira as she studied the map that the elderly mage was showing her and Khalid. "One of the last remaining citadels standing in either Amnish or Gate lands. Sarevok is no fool- so long as the Inn stayed neutral and refused to clash with any of his interests, harboring Bhaalspawn included, he refused to waste resources and manpower on trying to bring down their walls."_

_"Until now? What has c-changed?" Khalid frowned._

"Thanks to my own machinations as well as our ability to control the information leaked through most unofficial channels-"

"No need to thank me, I does what I can." Gaelan Bayle interrupted Edwin, grinning at the two of them, earning a dirty look from the Red Wizard that somehow failed to dim the thief's spirit.

"As I was saying (if he interrupts me again, a fireball would be an appropriate response. Yes, that would do nicely), for the past months we've begun leaking rumors of the Inn taking in Bhaalspawn that are on the run from Sarevok's armies. The madman is still in the final stages of sieging Saradush; he will not be able to pull his full army away from that city to investigate these rumors. Still, if his response to this rumor matches his previous behavior, he will be loathe to leave the Inn unmolested."

_"You think Sarevok's armies will strike the Friendly Arm Inn." Jaheira said, less of a question than a statement of fact. Gorion nodded, exhaling with a hint of trembling in his hands. Jaheira noticed- he grimaced, obviously displeased with her spotting his show of weakness. It was a tired cliché, but in Gorion's case it was true: he was getting too old for this. Pushing eighty, this was no longer a job for one such as he. Still, with so many Harpers dead, he was one of the few with the wisdom and experience to handle distributing their remaining forces._

_"Yes... yes, I do. Our remaining scouts have brought word of a large contingent of Sarevok's men breaking off from the main engagement at Saradush and moving north, back towards the Sword Coast. Sarevok is not known for dividing his forces, least of all in a combat situation. He would only do so if he felt the reward was worth the risk." the wizard paused, running his finger up the map and stabbing once at the Friendly Arm Inn. "The Inn's defenses are strong, but they will not be able to stand up to a concerted siege. Sarevok's men will burn this place to the ground."_

"You knew that he would divide his forces if he thought there were other Bhaalspawn hiding there." Imoen grinned, arching one eyebrow before winking at Gaelan. Not only was he the best thief and spy left in the Shadow Thieves, but they'd found a similar interest in loving to bait the Red Wizard. "Yer smarter than you look sometimes, Eddie."

Edwin growled, shaking his head as he continued. "(If the girl calls me that one more time, BOOM! Lightning and fire, right when she's sleeping) Even with the additions to our army made by recruiting the remnants of the dead god-spawn's armies, we do not have the forces to stand against Sarevok directly. A more subtle approach will be best(As if the majority of those monkeys in our army could conceive of such a thing)."

_"We have never had the power to stand against Sarevok directly. Still, you and the others have hindered him more than anyone could have anticipated. It is only thanks to the Harpers that he has not killed more people already. What can we do here?" Jaheira questioned, Khalid studying the map as Gorion gathered himself within his robes. _

_"If I'm n-n-not mistaken, I think Gorion intends f-for us to evacuate the inn. G-gorion?" Khalid answered, receiving a nod in reply from the mage. "Still, it will take time for us to get there, especially if we are g-going to have any s-sort of backup-"_

"Backup?" Edwin sneered, shaking his head as he looked at the two thieves with him. "No, once we commit to this, there will be no turning back. Until now, Sarevok has known we exist, but knows nothing of our location, or our strength. Once we strike, we will not be able to pull back without exposing ourselves to ambushes and attacks to our flank. We must stay on the offensive for as long as we can."

"Coo! Seems simple enough then." Bayle nodded in affirmation. "We wait till Sarevok's boys bring down the Inn, exhaust themselves upon the spoilin, fightin and lootin... the night after, we creep in quick as ye wink and slit 'em up and down without a scratch to our own."

Imoen did not say anything; considering the plan, she spoke with a hint of hesitation. "Do we need to wait until after they sack the Inn? We couldn't ambush them before it goes down? Maybe we could get the guards of the Inn to join up with us if we save them-"

"And waste manpower needlessly with no guarantee of any reciprocation from the Inn?" Edwin scoffed. "I wonder how long you would have lasted if not for my guidance in these matters. (This had better pay off in the end...)."

"No... you're right." Imoen said, shaking off any worries or misgivings she had held. "When will they arrive?"

_"Approximately two days." Gorion said, preparing himself for the look of shock from the pair facing him. "Our information was late- it could not be helped. You know as well as I that our ability to keep up with our enemies has diminished as of late..."_

_"Gorion..." Jaheira warned, leaning across the table towards the mage. "We cannot evacuate a town in that small of a time frame. We will not even be able to make it there within two days. What do you expect us to do about this?"_

_"I... I don't know." Gorion admitted, and those simple words shocked his audience. Gorion had always had a plan, always stayed one step ahead of the game. Here, now, seeing him so powerless and unable to help- it was disconcerting in more ways than one. He looked up, his weary features drawn and haggard. "I'm sorry, my friends... I have little aid to offer this time. I know this is not much to go on, but..." he trailed off, nothing more to say._

"It's settled then. Our forces are in place and will wait for your command." Gaelan nodded to Imoen. "Ye'll be leadin the troops after all."

"Of course." Imoen swallowed, unable to hide a sense of fear and nervousness as Bayle nodded and moved to make the final preparations with their assassins. This was it, then. This war she'd professed herself willing to fight if it meant stopping Sarevok, saving herself and her family... it was about to begin. She glanced at Edwin, the Red Wizard still absorbed in the map and the planning, somehow. She owed the man a great deal- he was far cannier in the ways of strategy and warring than she. If he wasn't there as her guide, her spokesman at times... "Edwin?"

"Eh? What is it now?" he said, annoyance in his tone, per the usual.

"I... well, just- thanks, that's all. Thanks." Imoen smiled weakly. "I appreciate everything you've done to help me. I couldn't have gone this far without you."

_"You've no need to thank me." Gorion answered, returning a heartfelt embrace with both half-elves as they stood, preparing to part ways. "You are my oldest and dearest friends... and I am proud to have known the both of you. If you do not see me again... may Mystra watch over you."_

_"We will see you when we return." Jaheira said simply, making a point to refute his worries. "And Gorion- Imoen was lucky to have you as her father. We know, because she told us as much. Do not give up hope- you may yet see her again."_

Maybe once this was all over, Imoen thought, stalking away from the room where Edwin continued to pore over the details of their upcoming clash. Maybe once Sarevok was stopped and she was safe, and the assassins and hunters had stopped, she'd finally be able to find Jaheira, Khalid, and Gorion again. There was still hope. If anyone could have survived all of this, it was the three of them. Her family. It had been so long since she'd seen any of them- it was high time she remedied that. Just a little longer, that's all. A little longer, and everything would be fine.

X X X X X X

The smell was the first give away. Nothing could mask it. After smelling it for the first time and realizing just what it was, nobody ever forgot. Burning flesh- the smoke pouring into the sky, billowing up far and above anything else in the night sky. The Friendly Arm Inn, once a bastion for travelers and safe haven for any and all, was little more than a smoking ruin. As with every other city that had dared stand before Sarevok's might, it had fallen in the end. The army that had claimed victory was gorging themselves in their triumph, their encampment set and surrounding the decimated site, having looted and pillaged all throughout the day and warming themselves with the fires of the dead in the night. They had posted guards and watches for the night, set to watch for any ambushes or surprise attacks- but it was pointless. Nobody would dare attack an army commanded by Sarevok, greatest of the Bhaalspawn. It was a fool's errand- the only armies that had dared provoke Sarevok's anger had belonged to the fire giant and the half-dragon, and both of them were dead now. Every night was peaceful, uneventful.

This night was different.

A blur in the darkness- one of the sentries gagged as a knife slit his throat, sending him tumbling to the ground, trying in vain to hold back the wash of blood that came pouring out. A hundred paces to the left, another guard dropped to the ground, soundlessly, silently. Slowly, one by one, each sentry and guard was brought low by the best the Shadow Thieves had to offer. Nobody cried out, nobody sounded an alarm. Silent like the grave... Imoen let that analogy roll around in her head for a moment as she crept into camp. It made her chuckle a bit, if only in a slightly morbid way. She was followed by the rest of her men, all dressed in black and maintaining absolute silence. There was no room for error; their army was mostly Shadow Thieves and Cowled Wizards- while any of them could hold their own in a stand up fight, they weren't warriors. They weren't meant to be on the front lines, fighting hardened veterans of battle. That was exactly what Sarevok's men- these men, slumbering amongst them- were.

Imoen crept along, barely hearing the rustling of tent flaps as her men split up amongst the camp, going about their business lethally and quickly. Like the guards, nobody let out a cry or spoke a word- each member of her army was quick, quiet, and efficient. Finally, she reached the main encampment, a tent the size of a circus dwelling. Slipping inside wordlessly, Imoen blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the new lighting. There were candle stands and torch holders set up to provide some lighting or the inhabitant within- a blonde haired man with a scar running down one side of his face, his naked upper body heavily muscled as he lay in the bed roll, noiselessly sleeping. A set of armor that looked like it had been part of that which was worn by the Flaming Fist was lying in the corner; like his men, this man felt little worry or concern about being taken by surprise.

Imoen paused for a moment, the words and chidings of Montaron coming unbidden to her once more. _Murder... yer no different than we, lass. We never pretended to be anything different than what we are... _no. Not murder. This was war. And in war, there was no time for hesitation or fair play. A moment later, Angelo was dead, and Imoen had struck her first blow in the war against the most powerful of her remaining siblings.

X X X X X X

The banners were the first give away. Nothing could hide them in any camp or army controlled by Sarevok- banners of black with a pair of golden eyes emblazoned across them. They were his symbol, and people had learned to fear the sight of those banners as much as the man who wore the real things. They were always posted around each camp- but not this time. The banners were torn down, piled up and trampled underfoot. Someone had decided to do the unthinkable... they had not only opposed Sarevok's men, but apparently won, and won big. Khalid and Jaheira studied the encampment below surrounding the rubble of the Friendly Arm Inn. They had arrived a few hours before the sun had risen over the top of the sky and were still shadowed in the hillsides surrounding those camped below.

"What do you think?" Jaheira murmured quietly, her keen eyes never leaving their targets, never allowing anything done below to go unnoticed. There was no way they could get caught here, now. The stakes were far too high. "The new Bhaalspawn Gorion told us about..."

"The L-laughing Death." Khalid nodded in affirmation. "Do you t-think they had a hand in d-destroying the Inn?"

For the first time, Jaheira turned her gaze away from their foes and back to her husband, arching an eyebrow. "Does it matter? We have a decision to make, and you know well what that is. We are not likely to get another opportunity like this, especially considering how elusive this spawn has been."

Khalid paused to consider it for a while, silent as he tucked himself behind one of the boulders they were using for cover as they watched in the dark. "At the v-v-very least, we s-should try to find out more about who this p-person is..."

"And if we get the chance, we should not rule out killing this Bhaalspawn as well." Jaheira added, her tone hard, though Khalid could see the hesitation still in her eyes. "The longer these Bhaalspawn fight among themselves to claim Bhaal's Throne, the longer the lands will suffer under their wars. Sarevok has shown that well enough..."

"But is it right? Has this one done anything to d-deserve it?" Khalid offered, and Jaheira sighed, her husband's question raising the doubts in her own mind. "We c-cannot simply kill because w-we think it will make things better."

"But you concede that it may restore balance." Jaheira pressed, before rubbing her eyes with one hand. It had been a long journey, and finding out that they were too late to help had taken a toll on both of them. Still, they would not leave this place without doing something to aid Gorion's efforts. "We do not have time for this. We can make a decision once we have found the one we seek. For now, getting inside that camp is our first priority."

He nodded, and banishing all hesitation, they were on the move.

Surrounding the encampment in an almost parodic version of Sarevok's men, former Shadow Thieves and Cowled Wizards patrolled the outer edges, watching for any sign of Sarevok's might coming to descend upon them in retribution for the massacre they had visited upon them just a day prior. If any of them had been watching oh-so-carefully at the hill sides, they might've seen a pair of shadows slipping back and forth between any and all available cover, never exposed for more than a moment at a time. They crept as close as they dared without coming within range of the light given off by the torches posted every few dozen yards; slowly but surely, they began circling the entire camp, looking for any sign of weakness, any place where they might enter unseen.

Too many torches... too many guards. Not enough cover... again, too much lighting to give them away. They had almost made a full circle around the camp, coming off the hillside and onto flat plains, when Jaheira smiled in satisfaction. There, surrounding what looked like a pile of bodies- no doubt the former soldiers of the camp, Sarevok's men, was a single strait through a set of tents. It would be easy enough to slip through the maze of tents unnoticed... if not for the single guard stalking back and forth across the path they'd need to cross to get there.

Khalid glanced at Jaheira, nodding down towards her hip. She had the same idea; undoing the sling from its resting place, she dipped into her pouch and withdrew a stone, crouch-walking forward to make her shot as easy as possible. She'd most likely only get one chance at this- a miss, and their cover was blown. She waited until the guard was facing as far away from their position as his route would take, then stood and swung the sling over her head, lining up the shot-

The guard turned around, only to be greeted by a hurtling stone that hit him squarely in the neck. His eyes widened at the sudden collapse of his windpipe, and despite his frantic grasping for air, all he could do was sink to the ground and expire slowly, Khalid and Jaheira hurtling towards him and quickly ducking behind the cover of the nearby tents. Khalid grabbed the legs of the dead man and pulled him out of sight, peeking into tone of the tent flaps- storage. He waited until he was certain nobody would be coming by, then dragged the corpse inside and pushed him behind the crates within, concealing him from sight.

Jaheira peeked out from their position, her brow furrowed at the distance they would have to cross to reach their destination. The largest tent was located almost directly north of their current position- the only problem would be navigating the span between while avoiding the notice of the two men stalking back and forth. They didn't look much like fighters- wizards, more likely. Still, the night was too cold for them to leave their cowls down, and that would at least give the pair of Harpers a bit of an edge when trying to avoid being spotted. It was either that or kill them- and it was too great a risk, trying to dispatch both of them without at least one raising an alarm.

Turning back to Khalid, her eyes widened as he stood from their hiding spot and began striding out towards their opponents, his sword still sheathed and his head held high. "Khalid!!" her voice was a hissing whisper, trying to get him back behind cover before they saw him-

The Cowled Wizards patrolling spotted Khalid, only pausing to nod to the warrior as he approached, nodding in reply. Jaheira's heart nearly stopped as he stopped beside them, saying something she couldn't quite make out- what in the world was going on? Why hadn't they attacked him, or at least- he pointed towards where Jaheira was hiding, and she clenched her staff in anticipation and fear as the three of them began stalking towards her position. She prayed Khalid knew what he was doing...

The moment they were within range, Jaheira leapt from her hiding spot with a snarl, the braids of her hair flying as she lunged for one of the wizards, pulling him down and into a bracer-covered forearm, his nose shattering with the impact. Khalid had already moved against the second wizard, one hand clapping over the man's mouth while his other put his right arm into a hammer-lock. The man clutched and pounded at Khalid's hand with his free arm, trying to clear his mouth so he could scream or cry out, but with a quick maneuver of the leg, Khalid tripped his foe up, sending him hurtling to the ground as Khalid added his own momentum to the fall. The man's head slammed into the ground, rendering him unconscious immediately. The two of them hid the bodies once more, Jaheira only pausing after they were out of sight again to turn to Khalid and strike him in the arm, her green eyes blazing with relief and frustration. "What were you thinking?!"

"I... I-I noticed that none of the guards were w-wearing any kind of c-crest or b-b-banner." he stuttered with a hint of embarrassment. "I s-simply thought that-"

"Going out there and acting like you belonged wouldn't raise any suspicion." Jaheira finished for him, her lips pursed together. "And you did not tell me this before you tried it because...?"

"Y-you would never have l-let me do it." he countered. "Y-you would have t-told me it was too d-dangerous."

"That's because it was, you fool." Jaheira exhaled, before pulling him close and kissing him firmly. "Have I mentioned how much I love you?"

They exchanged a brief smile before heading towards their target at a brisk run, watching for any sign they had been discovered; nobody made any sort of noise or raised any kind of alarm as they entered the tent, closing the flaps immediately. Across the tent was a filled bedroll, light snores coming from within. The guards, present at no other tent in the camp, coupled with the sheer size and affluence of the material within made them sure they were in the right place. Whoever this 'Laughing Death' was, he or she was here, and they had a decision to make. Was killing this person worth it? Was the chance of restoring balance in the Realms enough to justify killing someone so easily, so quickly? Yes, he or she was a Bhaalspawn... but was that enough to condemn them? The two crept forward, Khalid quietly unsheathing his blade as Jaheira clutched her quarterstaff tighter.

Jaheira leaned in, her tanned hand flickering in the torchlight as she moved to unfurl the blankets, Khalid holding his sword at guard, ready to attack if need be- Jaheira pulled them back, breath catching in her throat. "By Silvanus, it cannot be..."

"I-I-Imoen??" Khalid whispered, looking down upon the pink-haired thief that he and Jaheira had known for so long. At the mention of her name, the girl stirred, turning over in her robes, her hand clutching one of the swords that she kept with her during the night. She'd gained a scar on her face and her sudden awareness, the immediate tenseness to her frame… it was nothing like the carefree girl that they'd known so long ago.

"I..." Imoen lowered the sword hilt she'd grasped, blinking in shock at the two figures standing over her.

"Imoen!! You two step away from her, or I swear I'll gut you before ye blink!" the shocked threat came from the entrance of the tent, Gaelan Bayle standing there with a drawn blade as he charged the pair. Imoen tried to shout a word of warning, but it was far too late. The thief was already upon the pair of Harpers and Khalid had spun, parrying the attack and lashing out with his shield to knock Bayle back a few feet. "Oy!! On yer feet lads, we're under attack!!"

"Come, we have to get out of here!" Jaheira shouted as she grabbed Imoen by the wrist, only for the girl to pull back in hesitation. "What are you doing?! Come on-"

"I can't!" she shouted back, confusion in her eyes as she and Jaheira fixed gazes. "These are... these are my men-"

"Jaheira, come on!" Khalid called as he pushed against Gaelan Bayle, his sword ringing in the air as he clashed against the thief, forcing him back as Jaheira spared Imoen a final look of disbelief, then following close behind as they forced their way out, breaking into the main clearing of the encampment. Imoen watched them in absolute uncertainty and confusion- she only needed hear a few moments of the shouts of her men giving chase and attacking her old friends before giving chase, shouting, "Stop!! Please, stop!!!"

Her words were drowned out in the ruckus as Jaheira and Khalid fought their way toward the edge of the encampment- the men slumbering in the camp were far quicker to rise to the alarm then they had anticipated- a few minutes longer and there would be no chance of escape. The pair of Harpers ran in tandem, no time to consider the import of what they had seen, of what finding Imoen here meant... all that mattered was escaping. Two men, half dressed and wielding swords came at them; Khalid braced himself with his shield and charged low, flipping one of them over the top of him, Jaheira using her quarterstaff to vault herself forward and send a flying kick to her opponent's face. Their enemies were gaining on them; Khalid turned his back to Jaheira's, using his shield to block any arrows that were sent their way as they moved, parrying any swords that came too close.

Imoen scrambled after her friends in a panic, her heart racing, her voice raw and hoarse as she shouted to be heard over the clamoring for action. "Don't hurt them!! They're my friends-"

The sound of a cry of pain echoed from their position, and Imoen's blood froze as she saw Jaheira hunched over, a blood running from a deep sword wound in her arm. They'd been cut off by a group of assassins, the outer guard that she'd had set to patrol the perimeter. They'd watched and waited for the pair to break through the final edge, ambushing them there. Jaheira spat in fury, eyeing the men before her- her eyes flashed and with a word of druidic power, she began shifting, changing into a form of savage fury. The gigantic bear she'd transformed herself into rose up on its hind legs and swept a paw across their foes, knocking several aside, her claws cutting through the studded leather that they wore for protection. Khalid abandoned his guardianship of their flank to aid in their last push, only needing to sweep past a few more before they'd be free, before they'd be able to make good their escape-

The sound of incantations filled the air, and in a horrifying moment, all Imoen could do was watch as she turned her head, spotting Edwin to her left, waving his hands and arms as he summoned arcane power. She recognized the spell; she screamed out a warning, rushing to her friends and knowing she would be far too late. Jaheira struck down the last of the obstacles in their path, preparing to drop down to all four paws and use her newfound speed to take the two of them out of range of their opponents within seconds. Before she could hit the ground and run, a fireball exploded across her back, igniting the fur and setting her ablaze as she flew to the ground. The bear's mouth opened wide with a roar- it turned into a cry of pain and shock as Jaheira transformed back to her original form, lying on her back with smoke curling out from underneath her, burnt and blistered skin cracking at the edges of her exposed flesh. Khalid cried out in horror, sliding to her body and holding her by the shoulders, trying to find something he could do to help her, anything he could do-

"Khalid..." her voice was a ragged whisper as she looked up at him, her green eyes blurring with tears- her body lost feeling and went limp in his arms, eyes unseeing as they stared up at the sky. the half-elf warrior holding her shook his head in denial, clutching her as though he could bring her back by sheer force of will.

"No! N-no!! J-Jaheira, please don't leave me..." he sobbed, cradling her as Imoen's forces began closing in once more, ready to strike him-

"Stop! Leave him alone!!" Imoen screamed, finally reaching his side, glaring daggers of hatred at anyone who dared approach the grieving man. "Khalid... I didn't-"

Khalid glared up from her body, his eyes bloodshot and normally kind features twisted in rage. "Y-you... you killed her! S-she was y-your friend- how could you do it?!!"

"No! I didn't mean for this-" Imoen pleaded hoarsely, unable to finish her cry as he charged her, sword raised high and landing vicious blows upon her as she barely parried them with her own sword. "Please, I don't want this!!"

"S-she was all I e-ever loved!" Khalid shouted, throwing his shield aside to use both hands to swing his sword at the girl he had helped raise. "Why d-did you do it, Imoen?! Why?!!"

It all happened in an instant; his blade came down to cleave her in two, Imoen moving up to block with her short sword and sliding the block forward as she stepped around him. The blade came off the block as she twisted her wrist, letting the edge of the blade slice through Khalid's chest as she ended up behind him. It had become instinct- she hadn't even realized what she had done until her eyes focused on the blood running from her sword. Imoen whirled in horror, looking at Khalid as he tried to take heaving breaths, his sword slipping from his grasp as he fell to his knees, brown hair tousled and matted with blood. He craned his head to look at her once more, the rage in his eyes giving way to confusion and pain before he collapsed completely.

Imoen dropped her blade and ran to the bodies of her friends, scrambling to her knees as she sobbed, shaking her head in denial. "Please... please, no... gods, not them, not like this-"

"Imoen!" Edwin hissed, coming to her side, grabbing her by the shoulder as he glanced at the rapidly growing crowd of her men who were watching the scene in utter confusion about what to make of it all. "Do you not realize what you are doing? You will give them reason to doubt your leadership, your ability to deliver upon your promises! (Promises that would have been forgotten long ago if not for my skills at supporting this weakling)..."

Imoen barely heard Edwin speak- all that mattered for her was the pounding of blood in her ears, the throbbing pain in her heart, the anguish that filled every fiber of her being. Too much. Montaron and Xzar. Xan. Irenicus. Bodhi. The Shadow Thieves she'd slaughtered. Now her oldest, closest... perhaps even only, friends. _It wasn't supposed to be like this! It was never supposed to be them... they were my family! I loved them both!! I can't do it. I can't do this anymore! I didn't want this, I just wanted to protect myself, to protect... I can't do it. I'm not a leader! I'm not a warrior!_

_"__**No. No, you're not. But I am. And while you can't do this anymore... I can do it all. Let me go." **__In the corridors of her mind, Imoen looked up to see a mirror of herself... but not quite. Her double was taller, stronger. Her smile was merry and leering- dark. Hiding something sinister. This was what she had embraced in place of the Slayer. What she had accepted, what she had taken as her own... the devil inside that she'd compromised herself for. __**"I can make the pain go away, Imoen. You're not strong enough to handle this. You killed them, didn't you? You'll never be able to forgive yourself for it... but if you let me in, you won't have to. Just give up... give me control one more time, and you'll never have to grieve, never have to hurt over them again."**_

_**"**__I... I'm sorry." Imoen sobbed, looking herself in the eye. "I just don't want it anymore... don't want anyone else to be hurt because of me. Don't want to hurt anymore-"_

_**"And you won't." **__Imoen's double smiled wickedly, her eyes flashing black as she extended her hand. __**"Take my hand, Im. Take my hand and find the peace you're looking for..."**_

_With a final moment of hesitation, Imoen nodded, reaching out and taking her double's hand. She felt all control slip away... forever._

"-now get on your feet, girl! (Ugh, I knew letting this brat have any kind of control was a mistake)." Edwin's voice faded back into existence as Imoen opened her eyes, a smile creeping across her face. She rose to her feet, turning to Edwin with a nod.

"Right as always, Eddie... right as always. Can't be showing weakness in front of the troops, right?" she grinned, wiping the tear stains from her face as she patted Edwin on the shoulder, stalking past him to her fallen, bloody sword.

"Er... yes. Of course." Edwin said, confusion in his tone about her sudden change of tone. "(This girl has more mood swings than any other I have met... perhaps a side-effect of her heritage?) You should speak to the men, assure them you are unchanged and ready to lead. You will have no better opportunity, you know-"

"Oh, I know, Edwin." Imoen nodded over-enthusiastically as she sauntered over with an oh-so-innocent look on her face, the blade she'd picked back up now tucked behind her back. "I know. Still, you're soooo much smarter and soooo much more intelligent, maybe you should talk to them. Whaddya think?"

Edwin frowned, unsure of what she was getting at- his eyes widened as she blurred into motion, plunging her sword into his stomach. Edwin tried to croak out a word, something... all that came from his mouth was a trickle of blood as he sank to the ground beside Khalid and Jaheira, his blood staining the ground. Imoen looked down at the corpse, shaking her head with a tsking of the tongue. "Hmm. Well, I guess he was right... I s'pose you all do deserve some kind of explanation, huh? Well... let's just say that Edwin and I had a bit of discussion about the chain of command. Any questions?"

Imoen looked up at the gathered masses, grinning as she surveyed their faces. Nobody dared venture a word- she laughed, wiping the blood from her sword on her own robes. "Well then, since that's done, get on back to yer tents. We've got a lot to do... no more of this waiting around. We're going to take this fight to Sarevok, the rest of the Bhaalspawn, and anyone who happens to be in the way. Don't worry, it'll be fun! Or maybe not. Either way, s'not like you have all that much of a choice. Well, you do, but only one of those choices involves not ending up like our Red Dead Wizard here. Um... yeah! Guess that's about it- get some rest! You're gonna need it, after all!"

X X X X X X

**One Month Before Present Day.**

"You are a hard man to find, Gorion Greenstone."

The voice that echoed through the old library halls was powerful, commanding. Even so, it drew little more than a glance from the elderly wizard poring over tomes in the burned out halls. Candlekeep had long been abandoned since Sarevok's assault on the hallowed walls. Most of the stores of knowledge that had been stored inside were ruined, lost forever to flame and smoke. Still, the stone fortress had been built to last, and there were rooms and vaults that were untouched by the inferno.

The robed and hooded figure who had sought Gorion out stepped past the ruin and rubble, approaching the seated man, whose eyes never left the books before him. "Few would expect to find one such as you amidst a ruin like this. Even considering that you once called this place home... is it not a lonely place to spend your days?"

The old man continued studying the tomes before him, speaking without looking up. "Not if you wish to be left to your own devices. A desire I had thought would be respected here."

"You cannot hide from who you are... not even through a self-imposed exile." the stranger remarked. "A little more than a year since you sent the pair of half-elves to their deaths... you left the service of the Harpers not long after you learned of their deaths."

"You know much of me." Gorion said, his voice tightening as he closed the book before him, finally turning to face the speaker. "Tell me, who are you, and why have you gone to such lengths to find me when it is clear that I do not wish to be found?"

The man unhooded himself, revealing a chain of tattoos encircling his bald head, and eyes that could pierce the soul with their intensity. "For your first question- I am Balthazar, one of the three remaining Bhaalspawn left on Faerun. For your second- I have sought you out because there is still one final chance at saving the Realms from the chaos sown by the Bhaalspawn. But to do this, I need your help. Yours, and no one else's."


	18. Full Circle

_"Daddies never crumble in a day"_

**One Month Before Present Day.**

The silence, such as it was, between the two men standing in the ruin of Candlekeep was deafening. Perhaps not quite the reaction that Balthazar, head of the enclave at Amkethran, had anticipated, but it was no less tense to see the old man standing before him mull over the gesture he had made. It was down to three... three of the most powerful mortals to have ever walked the Realms, and one of them was asking an old man, physically feeble and tired in spirit, to aid him in his quest to bring an end to the wars of the Bhaalspawn. Almost... surreal.

Gorion squinted as he looked up at the young monk, his lips a thin line as he gauged the veracity behind Balthazar's offer. Of course he was suspicious. Why wouldn't he be? The Bhaalspawn had destroyed so much already... including those closest to the old wizard. The extent to which Gorion's family had been harmed by the Bhaalspawn... that was something he did not yet know. Something Balthazar was not particularly looking forward to telling him.

"You seem to have me mistaken for someone else." Gorion said in a raspy voice, finally breaking the silence, his voice echoing amid the shattered walls and broken stones. "I am no longer in any position to help the Realms- I can barely help myself. My days of trying to save the world have ended. Leave me in peace."

"No... I should think not." Balthazar countered smoothly, his voice deep and level with each word. Try as he might, Gorion could not avoid that piercing gaze, that insightful stare that allowed the monk to look into anyone's heart and soul, prying out their motives and intentions. Despite his suspicions, Gorion knew Balthazar had no intention of harming him, at least right now. If he wanted, the monk could have crushed Gorion's throat before the wizard could have even began a spell. "You are the one I seek. No amount of self-loathing or guilt will change that. How long has it been? Almost two years since you sent them to their deaths?"

The casual tone with which he spoke of Khalid and Jaheira's deaths made Gorion clench his fists, an old wound hastily and uncaringly reopened. The wizard's tone deepened, and the look in Gorion's eyes spoke to a lingering fire that still burned within him as he spoke a terse reply, "You will not speak of them so lightly if you value your health, much less if you desire any kind of cooperation from me."

"Of course." the monk nodded, a smirk crossing the outer edges of his lips, the most facial emotion he had shown since arriving. "My methods are somewhat crude at times, but effective. Your ire rose so quickly at the mention of your fallen comrades- the fire you will need for this task came back so easily. You still have what we will need to save the Realms. You will need that anger, that passion. There can be no hesitation if the situation calls for it."

His words were confusing, even for the old man, wise as he was. Gorion shook his head, leaning on the table next to him as he clutched his forehead with his other hand. "You claim so much, yet say so little... what is going on? What could possibly have changed so much in the last year that there is any hope of quelling Sarevok before he claims the Throne of Bhaal for his own? If you want to end the suffering of the Realms, then fight him and let one of you walk away the victor. Only when the last of the Bhaalspawn are gone will the Realms have peace-"

"But you forget... there is one other. Three Bhaalspawn yet remain" Balthazar interrupted, inhaling sharply as he narrowed his gaze even further. "One other who possesses the power of Bhaal. I do not wish the power, or the Throne, but these two... they cannot be allowed to live."

The old wizard judged Balthazar's words with the wisdom and cautiousness that had served him for nearly sixty years with the Harpers. Nothing could be taken at face-value, not in these times, not with these people. The sound of a small rockslide of rubble trickling down the ruins around them broke the silence before Gorion joined in again. "How do you know this? How can you know?"

Balthazar smiled thinly, and it was readily apparent that it was not a smile of humor. "I can feel them. The taint that runs through my blood and theirs- it sings out like a siren in the night. Before this began, when the world ran freely with the Bhaalspawn, I could stretch out and feel the pools of essence scattered throughout the Realms. Like pinpricks of light in the night sky. Now... the field has narrowed. If this war is to end, then the Bhaalspawn must die. All of them."

Gorion laughed, a cynical sound that earned him a dark glare from the monk before him, unused to any sign of disrespect being shown to him. "I see. And of course, when you say 'all of them,' you surely do not include yourself in that estimation."

"Not at all." Balthazar countered calmly, earning a rare look of surprise from the mage. "I will not be a pawn of Bhaal, nor will I be a vessel for his return, willing or unwilling. When the others are dead, I plan to take my own life and lock the taint away forever. I have remained hidden in Amkethran for some time now, gathering my forces and preparing for war with Sarevok. I might... just possibly, be able to overpower his forces. But the moment I did, the other one, the... 'Laughing Death', as you said, would crush me in my weakness."

"And what would you have me do?" Gorion asked incredulously, standing to his full height as he gestured around him. "Look at me. I am an old man, surrounded by the ruin and the destruction of my past. Everything I cared about in life is gone- my friends, my family... everything. You think that my desire for revenge, the guilt over the deaths of my comrades enough to spur me back into one final, vengeful quest? Maybe... maybe five years ago you might've swayed me with that argument. Now I will ask you once more before you force me to act against you. Leave me in peace."

Balthazar stood quietly, unblinking as he continued to gaze into Gorion's eyes. The old man wasn't bluffing; he would strike against Balthazar if he pushed further. He would not budge, would not be willing to aid him... at least, until he knew the full truth. He had hoped to avoid revealing this until he had gotten an agreement from him. "Very well then. Let her destroy me. Watch as she rends the world limb from limb, drowning it in blood, and know that you could have stopped her years ago. Know that only you could have ever stopped her."

His words were cryptic, but not enough so that Gorion was left completely bewildered. He felt a sudden tightening of the throat and a chill run through his old bones as he asked the question that he desperately didn't want to voice. "Who... who is she?"

"Why do you ask the question to which you already know the answer?" Balthazar replied calmly, Gorion's face erupting in rage as he spun, unwilling to look into the monk's features any longer. "Deny the truth all you like, but it does the change the facts. She has wrought destruction upon Faerun to rival that of Sarevok. In the past two years she has murdered everyone in her path, your two Harper friends included."

"It is not her!" Gorion raged, shouting the monk down, his fists clenched in angry denial. "Khalid and Jaheira were her family, she would not have done this. This is not my daughter!!"

Balthazar nodded, remaining calm in the fury of the man before him. "No. No, she isn't your daughter any longer. She's been taken by the taint completely. When I learned of a new army, a new spawn that was sweeping through the lands of Amn, I sent a monk to investigate, to find out what I could. He was captured and interrogated by her. The monks I sent after him found him lying in the ruins of Trademeet- his hands and feet had been chopped off, and his eyes and tongue had been cut out." the monk said coldly, holding out a red crystal in one hand. "My wizards used a spell to transfer the remains of his fragmented memory to this crystal. I killed him out of mercy when I saw what he had seen. Would you like to see? Would you like to see her face as she tortured him, laughing all the while?"

Gorion looked at the crystal, fear and despair overtaking his anger as his eyes glimmered with unshed tears, the old man trembling as he shook his head. "No. No..."

"Then consider this." Balthazar pressed, stepping forward to push against the weakening mage. "I cannot fight them both at once. If I overcome one, the other will strike me down. The only reason they have not slaughtered one another by now is that they know of my presence, just as I know of theirs. They are waiting... and I shall wait no longer. You *must* help me. You are the only link to her past, to a time before she was taken by this madness. If you find her... she might lower her guard, if only for a moment. That is when you must strike. That is when you must kill her."

The words sent a wracking pain down Gorion, an emotional agony as the very thought of ending Imoen's life passed through his mind. Still... Balthazar's words were true. Both Bhaalspawn had to be dealt with at once, or it would all be for naught. There had to be another way. Another path. Even if that path ended with the end of his life. Yes. Yes- it was the only way he could face her again. Not in combat, not as her foe... as her father. "I cannot kill her. I will not." Gorion said, inhaling sharply as he regained his composure, the spark of hope and determination igniting in his eyes for the first time in two years. "But I will go to her. I will turn her from this path of destruction."

"If you think you can overcome the taint in her blood through old memories and kind words, then you are a fool." Balthazar spat, anger filling his voice, breaking his prior calm. "She cannot be saved- none of us can! Even if you do manage to save her, what have you gained? You've kept the power of Bhaal tethered to this earth, extending the suffering and the torture that this world must endure. It has to end with out deaths-"

"Perhaps yours.... not hers." Gorion countered, gathering his robes around him as he looked around, as though taking the measure of himself and his location anew. "Where is she?"

He did not answer immediately- it was not until Gorion looked back to the monk with expectancy that he sighed and answered. "The Orsraun mountain range. She has made camp on the northern cliff sides."

Gorion nodded and began striding out, navigating past the rubble and the fallen stones of his past- Balthazar called out to him. "If you are wrong... she will kill you. You understand this."

He did not answer. Balthazar nodded to himself silently, then began making his own efforts to escape the old citadel. He had rested all his hopes on this move- if Gorion was unable to kill the girl, this would all be for naught. But what else could be done at this point? The Five had been a waste- he had expected Sarevok to destroy most of them, but he had not anticipated Imoen destroying half herself. If they had done their intended job and weakened Sarevok's army to its breaking point, he could have swept out from Amkethran and annihilated the monster. As it was, his forces were strong, but perhaps not strong enough. It would be-

Balthazar paused, freezing to the spot as he craned his head from side to side, looking for the slightest motion or movement. Nothing... he closed his eyes, letting his other senses stretch out, letting the years he had spent training as a monk enhance his ability to view the world- there. And there. Yes... he could sense them all now. Balthazar assumed a closed position, opening his eyes and smiling darkly. "You may approach... I can hear your heartbeat. You and the rest of your warriors."

From the shadows so prevalent in the rubble, the mammoth figure of Sarevok strode forth, blade clenched in one hand. The golden eyes beneath his horned helmet glowed bright as he approached the monk, deep, booming chuckled erupting from within. "You do not seem surprised to see me, Balthazar."

"Not entirely." the monk said smoothly, slowly shedding his cloak and outer robe as he spoke. "I knew that leaving Amkethran was a calculated risk, though I admit that you found me far quicker than I had anticipated. Tell me... which of my monks betrayed me to you?"

Sarevok grinned, shaking his head. "And lose a valuable resource, should you somehow escape my grasp? You must think me a fool."

"No. Just a madman. Lost in your insatiable quest for power." Balthazar growled, dropping to a fighting stance, bare fisted and weaponless. "Let this end. Brother against brother, as it was meant to be."

Sarevok bellowed a war cry, rushing forward with speed unexpected by such a large man. His blade came across to test Balthazar's reaction time, his ability- the monk ducked underneath the swing and thrust both palms out, palm outward. The blow struck Sarevok squarely in the breastplate, sending him hurtling back and crashing into a pile of stone and rubble. The monk slowly straightened up again, watching quietly as Sarevok picked himself up and out of the rubble, growling in annoyance as trickles of rock fell from his body. "You are... stronger, than I had anticipated. Certainly faster. But you carry no weapon, and you will regret that decision!"

He came at Balthazar again, a downswing that would have cleaved the monk in two if he had still been standing there when the sword came down. He was to the right- Sarevok let the swing ricochet of the ground and back up, coming to cleave his legs out. Again, Balthazar rolled to the side, letting the sword go up and over him. He came to a crouch and leapt upwards, a palm strike hitting Sarevok squarely in the shoulder. Unarmored, that blow would have shattered every bone in the man's shoulder and even a few running down into his arm. His armor was thick and made of hardened steel. Even so... the giant warrior would be feeling that blow for days.

Sarevok growled in anger as he spun again, trying to cut the man down- Balthazar leapt backwards, just out of the big weapon's range, then leapt back in and delivered a kick to Sarevok's face, landing squarely in the opening that his helmet provided. The bigger man reeled backwards, flashes of light erupting in his vision from the blow. Balthazar did not hesitate- he pressed the attack and became little more than a blur surrounding the big man. His fists were like pistons, landing with the force of a war hammer as they dented metal and tried to break through to the man inside. Kicks landed like axes- Sarevok flew backward and landed with a thud against a piece of stone wall still standing upright, even as Balthazar followed through, a kick flying and sending Sarevok's helmet flying, clattering across the ground as the bruised man underneath looked up, his bald head gleaming with sweat and blood. Balthazar wasn't even breathing hard.

"I might... I might've underestimated you." Sarevok chuckled as Balthazar's vise-like grip landed around his newly exposed neck, a knife like hand reared back and ready to puncture Sarevok's head with one jab. "But did you really- *cough* really, think I would risk it all in a fight against a monk? A master of hand-to-hand combat?"

From vantage points all throughout old walls and floors, archers appeared, their bows drawn and prepared to fire. Sarevok grinned through bloodied lips- Balthazar smirked back. "You only delay the inevitable, Sarevok." he released the warrior and took a step back as Sarevok knelt down with effort, picking his dented helmet up once more, sliding it onto his head.

"Kill him."

Arrows flew with the sound of hornets zipping angrily through a clearing, all aimed at the one man standing before their master. And yet... he remained untouched. If one could see his movements slowed to that which the human eye could track, it was the epitome of trained perfection. Like lightning in a bottle. The monk's arms moved to strike the arrows as they came, splitting them in half as he countered many of them, dodging others. Each missile was spotted, then neutralized. Like they were moving in slow motion and Balthazar had but to move out of the way.

Sarevok came from behind, ready to strike him down while he was occupied, if it could be called that- the man back flipped over the hail of arrows and behind Sarevok, using him as a shield against any further strikes. The archers stopped immediately, unwilling to risk hitting their master while he fought. Sarevok's blade carved a huge rut in the wall as he swung, Balthazar ducking underneath it easily and countering with a closed palm that finally punched through the armor Sarevok wore and struck the flesh underneath. "You know how this will end, Sarevok." Balthazar stated calmly, constantly shifting himself so that Sarevok was between him and the archers. "You thought I was weak, weaponless. I *am* a weapon."

Another gut punch struck the big man solidly, and Sarevok went to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth as he dropped his Sword of Chaos. He could barely move anymore- the archers opened fire again, desperate to save their master as Balthazar was once again exposed to their fire. He chopped two arrows out of the air, preparing to lead that into a strike downwards to finish the Bhaalspawn before him off- Sarevok erupted with a roar, both arms landing around Balthazar's chest, pinning his arms to his sides as he pushed him into the wall behind him.

The monk grunted with impact, straining to free himself- he could not. Despite all of his power and the speed with which he fought, Sarevok's strength still out measured his own. Without room to utilize the speed and power of his blows, he could not break the grip Sarevok held upon him. He might've been able to use his legs to escape, to punish the man before him, but being pinned against the wall eliminated any such motion from his legs. "Hnh..." Balthazar looked into the bloodied face before him, the two combatants' faces less than foot apart. "You cannot release me or even move from this place without me killing you. I cannot free myself from your grip. What now, then?"

Sarevok paused, judging his options, before smirking darkly. "Now you die."

He lowered his head, then lunged forward. The sound of a blade impaling flesh was loud, sickening. Balthazar's body twitched once with the impact, then went limp. Sarevok released his grip, then carefully pulled himself out of his helmet, looking with feral satisfaction at the corpse of Balthazar hanging against the wall by one of the horns on Sarevok's helmet, stabbing through his eye and into the wall behind him.

Balthazar's body began glowing, slowly dissolving into the pieces of the Bhaal essence as it floated away into the void. Sarevok inhaled sharply as he felt himself grow stronger, felt the power of Balthazar added to his own- he roared in victory, slowly unclenching his muscles as he yanked his helmet off the wall, not even bothering to clean off the pieces of brain matter and gore hanging on the horn when he put it back on. The sound of footsteps drew his attention as Semaj approached, bowing low in submission. "My lord... we did as you commanded and have sent agents to follow the old wizard. He has no idea of our presence or of what had occurred here. The rest of the army awaits near Amkethran. Shall we strike them?"

"No." Sarevok shook his head, bending down and retrieving his blade. "There is only one battle that matters now. The last Bhaalspawn... this Imoen, this Laughing Death. Your agents will follow behind the wizard, and he will lead us straight to her. As soon as we know her location, we shall strike. My moment of ascension is at hand... let all who walk this earth tremble in fear."

X X X X X X

**One Day Before Present Day.**

Too many memories. He watched from the opposite side of the lake, his magics allowing him to scry upon those who protected his daughter...

_Gorion sat at Imoen's bedside, watching her as she slept, fitfully at times, in her room at Candlekeep. She was afraid, hurt by what had happened to her mother, by what she was afraid was her fault. He had promised her that he would be there when she rested, and that he would be there when she rose. He had promised that he would protect her. She had smiled._

Too many memories. He didn't have much time to cross- his water-breathing spell was difficult to maintain and took far too much of his energy. Still, his magics allowed him to breathe the water in the lake as he walked beneath the surface, approaching silent, still unnoticed.

_Imoen leapt from a shadow, shouting gibberish that sent Winthrop yelping in bewilderment as he dropped his pots and pans everywhere. She laughed, ignoring the threats and warnings from the innkeep, scampering off into the halls of the citadel to practice sneaking around on some other unsuspecting monk. She could be so quiet, so stealthy... _

Too many memories. He erupted from the surface of the water, his hands already drawing the arcane patterns he needed as the guards patrolling that side of the lake turned in shock at the sudden appearance of an intruder from the unlikeliest of places. They both fell to the ground, encased in stone and would remain so forever, barring a Stone to Flesh enchantment. He moved to find cover, only pausing to wring out the sleeves of his robes, completely soaked.

_The fountains in the courtyard of Candlekeep were not for playing in. That's what he kept telling her. Over and over, it was hard enough keeping them clean without a little girl playing in them and getting herself soaked every other day. That's what he kept telling himself. Then she smiled that innocent grin, and for some reason, it didn't quite matter as much anymore._

Too many memories. Another guard, this one looking the other way. No need to kill him. Besides, he needed to know where she was. Where he could find her. He took him with a Hold Spell, followed by a Domination spell. He told Gorion where to find her; the mage follows up with one more spell, this one a Sleep enchantment. The man would be out for hours- he'd never know what took place here, whether Gorion lived or died- or whether it would even matter in the end.

_Gorion dipped the seal he had on his desk in the wet wax, then sealed the envelope and placed it on his desk where he would be sure not to forget it. The messenger that delivered his words to his Harper comrades came by in another day. Elminster was the only one who knew of her heritage. The only one he entrusted with that secret. But he was far too busy, far too involved with other deeds to watch over the fate of one Bhaalspawn. He'd only provide the barest of advice for Gorion if he needed it. No, the only one who would ever understand, who would ever bear this burden would be Gorion himself. He'd keep that burden from Imoen as long as possible too. Keep her young, keep her innocent and sweet as long as he could. He promised he'd protect her, after all._

Too many memories. Gorion let an Invisibility spell cover him as he moved through the camp, avoiding any open spots nonetheless. In a camp of this size and magnitude, there had to be spell wards placed. Probably aroundher tent. Sure enough, he finally spotted it and without a sound, his invisibility faded away. Exposed, right in the line of sight of one of the archers who was guarding the tent. He blinked once, opening his mouth to shout an alarm as he raised his bow-

_Gorion watched as Imoen listened to Hull explain the basics of stringing a bow and firing one, the girl watching with rapt attention- or at least, that was the impression she was giving as she pick pocketed the guard. Only a glare from Gorion got her to return the man's coin purse- returning it without Hull ever knowing it had been taken. Granted, that didn't stop her from trying to steal it again when she thought Gorion wasn't looking._

Too many memories. Again, the mage proved faster than his age would suggest. A Silence spell engulfed the air, ending the attempt by any of the guards in the area to warn their fellows. Their bows however, were not so quickly halted. Two arrows flew before Gorion could counter them- one of the arrows went high, the other sunk into Gorion's left leg, sending him to the ground as he bit back the desire to shout in pain. No. Push the pain away. Push away the pain and strike out with all the fury of the elements. A Cone of Cold engulfed the four guards, encasing them in ice. Gorion struggled to his feet, glancing down at the arrow embedded in his thigh. Every time he tried to move that leg, it felt like it was on fire. Losing blood... he'd have enough time to do what he had to. Just... just needed to get into that tent.

Gorion pushed open the flaps of the tent, stumbling in as he clutched one leg, ignoring the blood that was pulsing from his leg with each heartbeat. On the opposite side of the circus-style tent, large enough to accommodate a crowd of onlookers for the event, the spectacle about to occur- there she was, her back to him. Her hair was shoulder length, still pink, the way she'd dyed it back in Candlekeep. She was wearing elven splint mail- it had been dyed from its original emerald color, black with jagged stripes of pink running up and down it. Just like her. She turned to face the intruder in her tent, a glowing red sword clutched in one hand, a quiver on her back and a bow shaft as well. Just like her. Her face- the same. Her features- the same. Her eyes.... no. Those weren't hers. Too many memories, and they were not of the girl standing in front of him.

"You have got to be kidding me." Imoen sighed, looking at the bleeding man before her as she rolled her eyes. "Would ya believe that this is the second time this has happened? Yeesh, what do I have an army for if they're just gonna let everyone waltz right in here. I could've been changing or somethin..."

"Imoen... if you're still in there, listen to me." Gorion said hoarsely, stepping forward. He wished he still had his quarterstaff to lean on, but he'd abandoned it when crossing the lake. "Please... it's me. Gorion. Please-"

"Gorion?!" Imoen yelped with mock surprise. "No, not you! You came back to me after all this time to... to stand there and bleed all over my carpet. Well, we're in a tent, but you get the idea-"

"Silence!" Gorion commanded, mustering all the willpower he had left as he faced off against this... this thing, that had her face. "You... you are not my daughter. Begone, and give her back to me."

Imoen laughed, shaking her head in amusement. "No... no, you're right. I'm not your daughter. Neither is she. You're just an old man who got too caught up playing house to see the truth. She's gone now. I'm all that's left of sweet lil' Im."

"No... She's still in there, and I intend to bring her back." Gorion said, pointing at the Laughing Death as power surged at his fingers. "Release her."

"Or you'll do what?" Imoen sneered incredulously, hopping back and forth between feet as she grew ever closer. "Kill me? Good plan... oh wait, that'd be killing her too, wouldn't it? Somehow pops, I just don't think you've got it in ya."

Gorion snarled a curse and let the magic he had been holding in fly. A burst of energy sent Imoen hurtling across the room, crashing into the bed set up for her. She looked up from the splintered wood, giggling like a schoolgirl. "What did you really think was gonna happen here? That you'd show up, say a little speech, Imoen would come back all teary eyed, you guys would hug and everyone would go home happy? I hate to say it, but life just ain't like that!"

Another shout of anger and frustration from Gorion- even slowly bleeding to death, he found the strength to send a fireball her way, the girl leaping out of the blast radius just before she would have been immolated. She came out of the roll smoking, but unharmed. "It's too late. Besides, why in the world would she ever come back to this? To you?"

"Be silent, demon!" Gorion spat, letting a flurry of Magic Missiles send Imoen flying again, her body curled up in pain, small pieces of burned flesh flaking from her arms where she had tried to shield herself. "Give me back my daughter!!"

"She's gone, old man." Imoen chuckled quietly, "And she's not your daughter. I was more of a parent to her then you ever were. Who helped her when she was in trouble? Me. Who watched out for her on the road, kept her safe? Me. Who was always there for her to turn to when things went so... horribly... wrong."

Imoen rose to her feet, grinning darkly. "Me. I helped her. I was there for her when Irenicus tortured her. I gave her the power to free herself. I gave her the power to strike back at her enemies. All you ever gave her was a misguided, outdated sense of morals that did nothing but push her further and further down a path to destruction."

Gorion screamed in fury, raising his hands as the power of a Dragon's Breath spell shimmered into existence; fire rained down all around them, engulfing the tent and setting everything ablaze. Imoen hurriedly conjured a Protection from Fire spell- it shielded her from the elements, but not the concussive impact. All around, the armies she'd built were set ablaze, the spell catching the whole encampment afire. Gorion stood over her, lightning in his hand as he looked upon this... this thing, that had taken the place of the girl he'd raised, the girl he'd loved.

"Go ahead then." Imoen smiled weakly. "Kill me if you can."

Too many memories. She wasn't Imoen anymore. Too many memories. For everything she'd done, for all the lives she'd ended. Too many memories. A bloody swath through the Sword Coast for the last two years, killing everything in her path. Too many memories. She'd killed Khalid and Jaheira.

Too many memories. Imoen was still in there. Somewhere. Gorion pulled his hand back, feeling all the remaining strength begin to flee his body. He had lost. "You're right. I can't."

Imoen climbed to her feet, exhaled once as she dusted herself off, straightening her tangled hair. "Meh. Didn't think so. I s'pose you know what's coming next, right?"

Gorion didn't say a word in reply. He didn't flinch when she drew her sword. Didn't scream when she plunged it into his chest. As he lay on the ground, the light dimming in his eyes, all he could think of were memories. Memories of an innocent smile, and a loving child. Just memories.

Imoen wiped the blood from her sword as she turned away from the corpse, looking out into the burning encampment. Gaelan Bayle scrambled to her pointing out at the inferno. "Imoen! The whol' camp is ablaze! Our spies just spotted Sarevok's armies moving our way before this thing started- he must've sent agents ahead to try and catch us-"

Imoen rolled her eyes, tired of listening. Her sword sung again, and a second body fell to the floor. She sighed, walking past and into the camp. It was going to be hell trying to organize her men for battle. A roll of thunder boomed overhead, and the Laughing Death glanced upwards to see dark clouds gathering above. It was always more fun fighting in the rain. She wasn't quite sure why. She laughed anyway.

X X X X X X

**Present Day.**

The two Bhaalspawn came together in a whirl of blades as the rain poured down from the heavens. The sounds of steel hitting steel were intermingled with his grunts of effort and her breathless laughs. She dodged his blows, he parried hers. Like a deadly dance, the two continued their steps, neither gaining an advantage as lightning split the sky, illuminating their faces. Sarevok's eyes glowing bright yellow, hers the darkest of black.

Finally, an opportunity- Sarevok swung his blade with such force that the blade she held went clattering from her hands and onto the ground. She pursed her lips in irritation as she leapt away from his pursuit, spinning as she pulled the bow from her back and nocked an arrow, shooting at Sarevok and forcing him on the defensive. He went from cover to cover, hiding himself as she circled their arena, looking for an angle- she pulled a different arrow, grinning as she loosed it. This time, she aimed for the rock he hid behind. The Arrow of Detonation sent everything flying, including Sarevok. He landed with a thud and a clatter of metal on stone as she approached, drawing another arrow as she took careful aim at the face between the jaws of the skull helmet.

Sarevok swung his sword upwards, risking it all- the arrow hit the blade of the sword, sending it flying. Imoen laughed at that.

He came off the rock quicker than she would have guessed, swinging his blade and cutting through the shaft of the bow, making it useless. She leapt away further, already moving onto her magics. The earth swelled and shifted as Earth Elementals rose from the ground. They were fodder, cut down as quickly as she could raise them. Direct spells were absorbed and dissipated by the Bhaal armor he wore. Fireballs, lightning bolts, acid arrows... all of it was useless against the power of his enchanted armor. And yet, she continued to laugh.

He came at her again, pushing through the spells she tossed at him as she backed up, trying to put space between the two of them. He swung horizontally, meaning to bisect her. Imoen went to the ground and dove between Sarevok's legs, kicking out at the backs of his knees. He grunted as he fell to his knees abruptly, Imoen scrambling to grab her sword, one final line of defense for herself as Sarevok struggled to pursue her before she could pick it up again.

Imoen dove for it, skidding across the ground and reaching out to grab the handle- the sword, drenched in rain, slid right out of her hand and just out of reach as she lay on her belly, staring at the weapon that had betrayed her so cruelly in the final battle of her life. Such a ridiculous way to lose... she laughed. The sound of footfalls above her turned her attention, and Imoen rolled onto her back to see Sarevok standing over her, his sword resting down at her belly. Imoen looked up at Sarevok, then at the sword he wielded... she laughed again, only this time, it was cut off by his blade plunging into her body, Imoen's eyes going wide as blood splattered the sword he had impaled her with. Still she struggled to choke out a laugh- her body finally stopped breathing, a grin plastered on her face. With that, the wars of the Bhaalspawn finally ended. Sarevok had won... and the Throne of Bhaal was claimed for his own.

X X X X X X

**Present Day, the Origin Universe:**

Imoen's eyes flashed open and she recoiled, clutching her head with a mixture of dizziness, fear, and bewilderment. The vision had been so real, so intense... not that she had expected anything less. A faint buzzing in her ears slowly made its way into a familiar voice, and when her vision cleared again, Imoen saw the beautifully exotic form of Queen Dianya of Letherel standing before her, slowly lowering a delicate hand. "Er... sorry, didn't quite catch what ya asked." Imoen said with a wince and a weak smile.

"I simply asked if you were feeling all right." Dianya offered with a smile. "I told you before we began, that to delve into the actions and events of other times and other lives would be an arduous process, one which would be... unpleasant, to say the least. I would not expect you to remember much of what you saw in the past few moments, to tell the truth."

Imoen nodded, clutching her head as she brushed a few strands of hair from her vision. "You're right about that... I can barely think about everything I just saw... but I guess seeing a lifetime in a few seconds will do that to you, right?"

"Indeed." Dianya smiled. "Still... I know that the experience could not have been pleasant for you. I hope that you at least remember some of what you sought. That you will take some wisdom from seeing the path you might've taken if not for your brother's presence throughout your life."

"Yeah... pretty sure I won't be forgetting all of it anytime soon." Imoen exhaled, glancing towards the door of the inner chambers that the two women were locked away in. It was all coming back now. They'd been doing odd jobs in Athkatla and the surrounding lands while helping rebuild Suldenesselar- on the way, she'd made a detour here to seek Dianya's counsel. "Ol' Grey wasn't big on the idea of me doing this in the first place, but... I just needed to know, if that makes sense. Needed to know why I would've done what I did in that other world... and how I could make sure it never happens here."

"Then I pray that you found what you were searching for. As for your other companion... is he prepared? Do you believe he can find his peace here?"

"I hope so. I know I'm going to miss him... but he needs to find his way without us. And he certainly didn't want to stay in Suldenesselar much longer." Imoen chuckled. "Don't go easy on him. He can take it."

Queen Dianya smiled, her gentle features sparkling in the low light as Imoen bowed in respect and left the ritual room, the doors swinging open as the roots and vines that composed them slid and moved on Dianya's command. Outside the room waited two men, one a half-elf with sandy brown hair and grey robes, holding a staff in one hand. The other was a large elven warrior, his skin as dark as the night sky. The younger one, the half-elf, walked to her side, taking her measure with his piercing green eyes. "Well? How are you feeling? You were only in there for an hour or so, but..."

"I'm fine." Imoen shook her head, taking him by the hand. "Just... just fine."

She turned and looked at the drow elf, who in one of the few times they had seen him, looked slightly nervous. "Sol... last chance, I guess. You'll still have a place with us if you want it..."

"I... I appreciate your kindness and have yet to repay you for all you have done for me thus far." the elf admitted, "But the longer I stay on the surface, the more I begin to realize that I must find my own peace. I only pray that this 'Dianya' can show me a path I have yet to consider."

"If anyone can, she'll be the one." the half-elf sorcerer said with a smile, walking to the drow and shaking his hand firmly. "It's been a pleasure to have you at our side for so long. We won't forget how you helped us. Like Im said, you'll always be welcome with us."

"It... it has been an honor to have known you as well." the drow said slowly. "Give my regards to the others. With any luck, our paths shall cross again."

"I'd say it's a guarantee." Imoen smiled broadly and winked, before leaping out and planting a quick kiss on the elf's cheek, evoking a slight blush to the drow's tone. He nodded to them before disappearing into Dianya's chambers. As the doors closed, the pair headed for the grove's exit, the half-elf looked at Imoen with an arched eyebrow. "Didn't realize you went for the strong, silent types, Im."

She simply chuckled, wrapping one arm around him, taking comfort in his presence. "So, where to? Back to Suldenesselar?"

"No... Jaheira, Minsc, and Aerie are waiting for us back in Athkatla. Apparently there's a bit of a situation there that we might need to step in with." he said.

"Then I guess we better get a move on." Imoen said slowly, adding as almost an afterthought, "Jus' so you know... I'm glad to have you with me, Greywulf. Really."

He smiled back, tousling her pink hair a moment. "Me too. Still, I don't doubt you'd get along just fine without me. What's the worst that could happen?"

Imoen let that roll around in her head for a moment, then laughed.

**END**

_Author's Post-Script: This story took a lot longer to finish than I ever imagined, but I hope it was worth the wait to anyone who was reading! Yeah, I'm a sucker for continuity, so if you didn't read Tale of the Bhaalspawn, the final scene is tying in to the aftermath of that story. Think of it as a minor bridge between Tale of the Bhaalspawn and the sequel. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, hope it wasn't too depressing, and I promise I'll try and be nicer to Imoen's character in all stories from now on! Once again, all reviews and comments are appreciated, and a big thanks to anyone who read!_

_-Capt. Incredible_


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